U' 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

,  ^       THE  UNIVERSITY 

\^       OF  CALIFORNIA 

SANTA  BARBARA 

COLLEGE 


PRESENTED  BY 


Mrs.    J.   R,    Sackrider 


■■ik^.-.:r. 


-  :£ 


>^ 


Cbc  Abbe  donstanttn         fjffi 
Cuboric  V}aUvy. 


THE 


ABBE     CONSTANTIN 


BY 

LUDOVIC     HALEVY 

OK    THE     FKENCH    ACADEMY 


ILLUSTRATED    BY 


MADAME    MADELEINE    LEMAIRE 


XEW    YORK:    46   East   14TI1    Street 

THOMAS  Y.  CROWELL  &  COMPANY 

BOSTON  :    100   Pl'KCHase   Stkeet 


BOSTON,    U.S.A. 


P^  ■▲NTA  BAKKARA  COLLEGE  UB&AftT 


LIST    OF    ILLUSTRATIONS. 


PAGE 
On    the    Terrace Frontispiece 

The  Domain  for  Sale i 

The  Cure's  Garden .  facing  6 

News  of  the  Sale "  lo 

The  Castle  of  Longueval 22 

Arrival  at  the  Vicarage 23 

Paclixe  and  Jean facing  34 

In  the  Garden "  36 

Mrs.   Scott  and  Bettina 39 

Dinner  at  the  Vicarage 40 

Mrs.  Scott  arraxchng  Bettina's  Hair, 

facing  46 

In  the  Ce.meti:ry "  58 

Bettina  Plavinc;  the  Mar.monium       ...  59 

The  Hundred  '-Louis" 61 

At  the  Opera facing  68 

Jean's  Study "  70 

The  Cuke  Praying 72 

'  Mazette  !  " 73 


LIST    OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

I'AGE 

The  Confession facing     86 

Leaving  the  Railway  Station      .     .     "         88 

"  good-by,  my  loveks  i  " 92 

The  Dka\ving-rooai  at  Loxgueval    ...     93 
Mrs.   Scott  and  her  Children      .     .  facing  106 

Bettina  at  the  Balcony 107 

The  Ride 108 

The  First  Tete-X-tete facing  114 

Child  and  Pony 116 

At  the  Ball 117 

"It  is  Raining!"' facing  128 

Bettina's  Room "       134 

Rain  and  Wind "        138 

(  jOod-by  ! 141 

Bettina  at  the  Vicak.vge 142 

Will  it  i-.e  Fink?    .......  facing  142 

The  First  Kiss ..."       164 

The  Wedding 165 


ii-l  k 


THE   ABB£  CONSTANTIN. 


CHAPTER   I. 


With  a  step  still  valiant  and  firm  an  old  priest 
walked  along  the  dusty  road  in  the  full  rays  of  a  bril- 
liant sun.  For  more  than  thirty  years  the  Abbe 
Constantin  had  been  Cure  of  the  little  village  which 
slept  there  in  the  plain,  on  the  banks  of  a  slender 
stream  called  La  Lizotte. 

The  Abbe  Constantin  was  walking  by  the  wall 
which  surrounded  the  park  of  the  castle  of  Longue- 
val ;  at  last  he  reached  the  entrance  gate,  which 
rested  high  and  massive  on  two  ancient  pillars  of 
stone,  embrowned  and  gnawed  by  time.      The  Cur6 


2  THE  ABB  A    COXST.LVT/X. 

stopped,  and  mfnirnfully  regarded  two  immense  blue 
posters  fixed  on  the  pillars. 

The  posters  announced  that  on  Wednesday,  May 
i8,  1881,  at  one  o'clock  P.M.,  would  take  place, 
before  the  Civil  Tribunal  of  Souvit:;ny,  the  sale  of  the 
domain  of  Longueval,  divided  into  four  lots. 

1st.  The  castle  of  Longueval,  its  dependencies, 
fine  pieces  of  water,  extensive  offices,  park  of  one 
hundred  and  fifty  hectares  in  extent,  completely  sur- 
rounded by  a  wall,  and  traversed  by  the  little  river 
Lizotte.      Valued  at  six  hundred  thou.sand  francs. 

2d  The  iarm  of  Blanche-Couronne,  three  hun- 
dred hectares,  valued  at  five  hundred  thousand  francs. 

3d.  The  farm  of  La  Rozeraie,  two  hundred  and 
fifty  hectares,  valued  at  four  hundred  thousand 
francs. 

4th.  The  woods  and  forests  of  La  Mionne,  con- 
taining four  hundred  and  fifty  hectares,  \alued  at  (wg. 
hundred  and  fifty  thousand  francs. 

And  these  four  amounts  added  altogether  at  the 
foot  of  the  bill  gave  the  respectable  sum  of  two  mil- 
lions and  fifty  thousand  francs. 

Then  they  were  really  going  to  dismeml^er  this  mag- 
nificent domain,  which,  escaping  all  mutilation,  had 
for  more  than  two  centuries  always  Ijjcn  transmitted 
intact  from  father  to  son  in  the  family  of  Longueval. 
The  placards  also  announced  that  after  the  tempo- 
rary division  into  four  lots,  it  would  be  possible  to 
unite  them  again,  and  otTer  for  sale  the  entire 
domain,  but  it  was  a  very  large  morsel,  and  to  all 
appearance  no  purchaser  would  ]3resent  himself. 

The  Marcjuise  de  Longueval   had   died  six  months 


THE  abb£  constantin.  3 

before ;  in  1873  she  had  lost  her  only  son,  Robert  de 
Longueval ;  the  three  heirs  were  the  grandchildren  of 
the  Marquise,  — Pierre,  H^l^ne,  and  Camille.  It  had 
been  found  necessary  to  offer  the  domain  for  sale,  as 
H61^ne  and  Camille  were  minors.  Pierre,  a  young 
man  of  three  and  twenty,  had  lived  rather  fast,  was 
already  half  ruined,  and  could  not  hope  to  redeem 
Longueval. 

It  was  mid-day.  In  an  hour  it  would  have  a  new 
master,  this  old  castle  of  Longueval ;  and  this 
master,  who  would  he  be  ?  What  woman  would 
take  the  place  of  the  old  Marquise  in  the  chimney 
corner  of  the  grand  salon,  all  adorned  with  ancient 
tapestry?  —  the  old  Marquise,  the  friend  of  the  old 
priest.  It  was  she  who  had  restored  the  churcli ;  it 
was  she  who  had  established  and  furnished  a  com- 
plete dispensary  at  the  vicarage  under  the  care  of 
Pauline,  the  Curb's  servant :  it  was  she  who,  twice  a 
week,  in  her  great  barouche,  all  crowded  with  little 
children's  clothes  and  thick  woollen  petticoats,  came 
to  fetch  the  Abbe  Constantin  to  make  with  him  what 
she  called  -'la  cliasse  aux  pauvres." 

The  old  priest  continu^-d  his  walk,  musing  over  all 
this;  then  he  thought  too  —  the  greatest  saints  have 
their  little  weaknesses  —  he  thought  too  of  the  be- 
loved habits  of  thirty  years  thus  rudely  interrupted. 
Every  Thursday  and  e\ery  Sunday  he  had  dined  at 
the  castle.  How  he  iiad  been  petted,  coaxed,  in- 
dulged !  Little  Camille  —  she  was  eight  years  old 
—  would  come  and  sit  on  his  knee  and  say  to  him  : 
"  You  know,  Monsieur  le  Cur6,  it  is  in  your  church 
that   I   mean  to  be   married,   and  grandmamma  will 


4  THE  ABB  A   CONSTANTIN. 

send  such  heaps  of  flowers  to  fill,  quite  fill  the 
church  —  more  than  for  the  month  of  Mary.  It 
will  be  like  a  little  garden — all  wliite,  all  white,  all 
white  : " 

The  month  of  Mary  I  It  was  then  the  month  of 
Mary.  Formerly  at  this  season  the  altar  disappeared 
under  the  flowers  brought  from  the  conservatories  of 
Longueval.  None  this  year  were  on  the  altar,  excejDt 
a  few  bouquets  of  lily-of-the-valley  and  white  lilac  in 
gilded  china  vases.  Formerly,  every  Sunday  at  high 
mass,  and  every  evening  during  the  month  of  Mary, 
Mademoiselle  Hebert,  the  reader  to  .Madame  de 
Longueval,  played  the  little  harmonium  given  by  the 
Marquise.  Xow  tlie  poor  harmonium,  reduced  to 
silence,  no  longer  accompanied  the  voices  of  the 
choir  or  the  children's  hymns.  Mademoiselle  Mar- 
beau,  the  post-mistress,  would  with  all  her  heart 
have  taken  the  place  of  Mademoiselle  Hubert,  but 
she  dared  not,  though  she  was  a  little  musical.  She 
was  afraid  of  being  remarked  as  of  the  clerical  party, 
and  denounced  by  the  Mayor,  who  was  a  Freethinker. 
That  might  have  been  injurious  to  her  interests,  and 
prevented  her  promotion. 

He  had  nearly  reached  thj  end  of  the  wall  of  the 
park,  that  park  of  which  every  corner  was  known  to 
the  old  priest.  The  road  now  followed  the  banks  of 
the  Lizotte,  and  on  the  other  side  of  the  little  stream 
stretched  the  fields  belonging  to  the  two  forms  ;  then, 
still  farther  off,  rose  the  dark  woods  of  La  Mionne. 

Divided!  The  domain  was  going  to  be  divided! 
The  heart  of  the  poor  priest  was  rent  by  this  bitter 
thought.     All  that  for  thirty  years  had  been  insepa- 


THE  ABBE    CONSTANTIN.  5 

rable,  indivisible,  to  him.  It  was  a  little  his  own, 
his  very  own,  his  estate,  this  great  property.  He 
felt  at  Iionie  on  the  lands  of  Longueval.  It  had 
happened  more  than  once  that  he  had  stopped  com- 
placently before  an  immense  cornfield,  plucked  an 
ear,  removed  the  husk,  and  said  to  himself: 

"  Come  !  the  grain  is  fine,  firm,  and  sound.  This 
year  we  shall  have  a  good  harvest  ! '" 

And  witli  a  joyous  heart  he  would  continue  his  way 
through  Jiis  fields,  his  meadows,  liis  pastures ;  in 
short,  by  every  chord  of  Ids  luart,  by  every  tie  of 
his  life,  by  all  his  habits,  his  memories,  he  clung  to 
this  domain  whose  last  hour  had  come. 

The  Abb6  perceived  in  the  distance  the  farm  of 
Blanche-Couronne ;  its  red-tiled  roofs  showed  dis- 
tinctly against  the  verdure  of  the  forest.  There, 
again,  the  Cure  was  at  home.  Bernard,  the  farmer 
of  the  ]\Iarquise,  was  his  friend,  and  when  the  old 
priest  was  delayed  in  his  visits  to  the  poor  and  sick, 
when  the  .sun  was  sinking  below  the  horizon,  and  the 
Abbd  began  to  feel  a  little  fatigue  in  his  limbs,  and  a 
sen.sation  of  exhaustion  in  his  stomach,  he  stopped 
and  supped  with  Bernard,  regaled  himself  with  a 
savory  stew  and  potatoes,  and  emptied  his  pitcher 
of  cider;  then,  after  supper,  the  farmer  harnessed 
his  old  black  mare  to  his  cart  and  took  the  vicar 
back  to  Longueval.  The  whole  distance  they 
chatted  and  quarrelled.  The  Abb(^  reproached 
the  farmer  with  not  going  to  mass,  and  the  latter 
replied  : 

"  The  wite  and  the  girls  go  for  me.  Vou  know 
verv  well,   Monsieur   le   Cure,  that    is   iunv  it  is  with 


6  THE  ABB  A    CONSTA.VTIN. 

us.     The  women  have  enough  rehgion  for  tlie  men. 
They  will  open  the  gates  of  Paradise  for  us." 

And  he  added  maliciously,  while  giving  a  touch  of 
the  whip  to  his  old  black  mare  : 

"If  there  is  one?  " 

The  Cur6  sprang  from  his  seat. 

"  What  I  if  there  is  one  !  Of  a  certainty  there 
is  one." 

"  Then  you  will  be  there,  Monsieur  le  Cure.  You 
say  tliat  is  not  certain,  and  I  say  it  is.  You  will 
be  there,  you  will  be  there,  at  the  gate,  on  the  watch 
for  your  parishioners,  and  still  busy  with  their  little 
affairs:  and  you  will  say  to  St.  Peter — for  it  is  St. 
Peter,  is  n't  it,  who  keeps  the  keys  of  Paradise?  " 

"  It  is  St.  Peter." 

"Well,  you  will  say  to  him,  to  St.  Peter,  if  he 
wants  to  shut  the  door  in  my  face  under  the  pretence 
that  I  did  not  go  to  mass,  \-ou  will  say  to  him,  '  Bah ! 
let  him  in  all  the  same.  It  is  Bernard,  one  of  the 
farmers  of  Madame  la  Marquise,  an  honest  man. 
He  was  Common  Councilman,  and  he  voted  for  the 
maintenance  of  tlie  sisters  when  they  were  going  to 
be  expelled  from  the  village  school."  That  will  touch 
St.  Peter,  who  will  answer,  '  Well,  well,  you  may 
pass,  Bernard,  but  it  is  only  to  please  Monsieur  le 
Curd.'  For  you  will  be  Monsieur  le  Cur6  up  there, 
and  Cur6  of  Longueval  tt)o,  for  Paradise  itself  would 
be  dull  for  you  if  \-ou  nuist  give  up  being  Curd  of 
Longueval." 

Curd  of  Longueval  !  Yes,  all  his  life  he  had  been 
nothing  but  Curd  of  Longueval,  had  never  dreamed 
of  anvthing  else,   and  never  wished  to  be  anvtiiing 


,-.  )>o  .^ 


The  Cure's  Garden.     (Opposite  page  6.) 


THE  ABB&    CONSTANTIM.  7 

else.  Three  or  four  times  excellent  livings,  with 
one  or  two  curates,  had  been  offered  to  him,  but 
he  had  always  refused  them.  He  had  loved  his  little 
churcli,  his  little  village,  his  little  vicarage.  There 
he  had  it  all  to  himself,  saw  to  everything  him- 
self; calm,  tranquil,  he  went  and  came,  summer 
and  winter,  in  sunshine  or  storm,  in  wind  or  rain. 
His  frame  became  hardened  by  fatigue  and  exposure, 
but  his  soul  remained  gentle,  tender,  and  pure. 

He  lived  in  his  vicarage,  which  was  only  a  labor- 
er's cottage  separated  from  the  church  by  the  church- 
)'ard.  When  tlie  Cure  mounted  the  ladder  to  train 
his  pear  and  peach  trees,  over  the  top  of  the  wall 
he  perceived  the  graves  over  which  he  had  said  the 
last  prayer,  and  cast  the  first  spadeful  of  earth. 
Then,  while  continuing  his  work,  he  said  in  his 
heart  a  little  prayer  for  the  repose  of  those  among 
his  dead  whose  fate  disturbed  him,  and  who  might 
be  still  detained  in  purgatory.  He  had  a  tranquij 
and  childlike  faith. 

But  among  these  graves  there  was  one  which 
oftener  than  all  the  others  received  his  visits  and  his 
prayers.  It  was  the  tomb  of  his  old  friend  Dr.  Rey- 
naud,  who  had  died  in  his  arms  in  1871,  and  under 
what  circumstances  I  The  doctor  liad  been  like 
Bernard ;  he  never  went  to  mass  or  to  confession ; 
but  he  was  so  good,  so  charitable,  so  compassionate 
to  the  suffering.  This  was  the  cause  of  the  Curb's 
great  anxiety,  of  his  great  solicitude.  His  friend 
Rcynaud,  where  was  he?  Where  was  he?  Then 
he  called  to  mind  the  noble  life  of  the  country  doc- 
tor,   all    made    up    of   courage    and    self-denial ;    he 


8  THE  ABB  A    COXSTAA'TIN. 

recalled  his  death,  above  all  his  death,  and  said  to 
himself: 

"  In  Paradise  ;  he  can  be  nowhere  but  in  Paradise. 
The  good  God  may  have  sent  him  to  purgatory  just 
for  form's  sake  —  but  He  must  have  delivered  him 
after  five  minutes." 

All  this  passed  through  the  mind  of  tlie  old  man, 
as  he  continued  his  walk  towards  Souvigny.  He 
was  going  to  the  town,  to  the  solicitor  of  the  Mar- 
quise, to  inquire  the  result  of  the  sale,  to  learn  who 
were  to  be  the  new  masters  of  the  castle  of  Longue- 
val.  The  Abbe  had  still  about  a  mile  to  walk  before 
reaching  the  first  houses  of  Souvigny,  and  was  pass- 
ing the  park  of  Lavardens,  when  he  heard  above  his 
head  voices  calling  to  him. 

"  Monsieur  le  Cur6,  Monsieur  le  Cur6." 

At  this  spot  adjoining  the  wall,  a  long  alley  of 
lime-trees  bordered  the  terrace,  and  the  Abb6,  raising 
his  head,  perceived  Madame  de  Lavardens  and  her 
son  Paul. 

'•  Where  are  you  going.  Monsieur  le  Cur(^?"  asked 
the  Countess. 

"To  Souvigny,  It)  the  Tribunal  to  learn  — '" 

"  Stay  here  —  Monsieur  de  Larnac  is  coming  after 
the  .sale,  to  tell  me  the  result.'' 

The  Abb6  Constantin  joined  them  on  the  terrace. 

Gertrude  de  Lannilis,  Countess  de  Lavardens,  had 
been  very  unfortunate.  At  eighteen,  she  had  been 
guilty  of  a  folly,  the  only  one  of  lur  life,  but  that 
one  —  irreparable.  She  had  married  for  love,  in 
a  ])urst  of  enthusiasm  and  exaltation.  M.  de  Lavar- 
dens, one  of  the  most   fascinating  and  brilliant  men 


THE  ABB£.    COySTANTIN.  9 

of  his  time.  He  did  not  love  lier,  and  only  married 
from  necessity.  He  had  devoured  his  patrimonial 
fortune  to  the  very  last  farthing,  and  for  two  or 
three  years  had  supported  himself  by  various  ex- 
pedients. Mademoiselle  de  Lannilis  knew  all  that, 
and  had  no  illusions  on  these  points,  but  she  said 
to  herself: 

"  I  will  love  him  so  much,  that  he  will  end  by 
loving  me." 

Hence  all  her  misfortunes.  Her  existence  might 
have  been  tolerable  if  she  had  not  loved  her  hus- 
band so  much,  but  she  loved  him  too  mucli.  She 
had  only  succeeded  in  wearying  him  by  her  impor- 
tunities and  tenderness.  He  returned  to  his  former 
life,  which  had  been  most  irregular.  Fifteen  years 
had  passed  thus,  in  a  long  martyrdom,  supported 
by  Madame  de  Lavardens  with  all  the  appearance  of 
passive  resignation.  Nothing  ever  could  distract 
her  from,  or  cure  her  of,  the  love  which  was  de- 
stroying her. 

M.  de  Lavardens  died  in  1869.  He  left  a  son 
fourteen  years  of  age,  in  whom  were  already  visible 
all  the  defects  and  all  the  good  qualities  of  his 
father.  Without  being  seriously  affected,  the  for- 
tune of  Madame  de  Lavardens  was  slightly  compro- 
mised, slightly  diminished.  Madame  de  Lavardens 
sold  her  mansion  in  Paris,  retired  to  the  country, 
where  she  lived  with  strict  economy,  and  devoted 
herself  to  the  education  of  her  son. 

But  here  again  grief  and  disappointment  awaited 
her.  Paul  de  Lavardens  was  intelligent,  aniia1:)le, 
and    affectionate,  but    tliorou^hlv  rebellious    against 


lO  THE  ABB&    CONSTANTIN. 

any  constraint  and  any  species  of  work.  He  drove 
to  despair  tliree  or  four  tutors,  wlio  \ainly  en- 
deavored to  force  something  serious  into  his  head, 
went  up  to  the  AliHtary  College  of  Saint-Cyr,  failed 
at  the  examination,  and  began  to  devour  in  Paris, 
with  all  the  haste  and  folly  possible,  two  or  three 
hundred  thousand  francs. 

That  done,  he  enlisted  in  the  first  regiment  of 
the  Chasseurs  dWfrique,  had  in  the  very  beginning 
of  his  military  career  tlie  good  fortune  to  make  one 
of  an  expeditionary  column  sent  into  tlie  Sahara, 
distinguished  himself,  soon  became  quartermaster, 
and  at  the  end  of  three  years  was  about  to  be  ap- 
pointed sub-lieutenant  when  he  was  captivated  by  a 
young  person  wlio  played  the  "  Fille  de  .Madame 
Angot  ■' at  tlie   tlieatre   in   .Vlgiers. 

Paul  liad  tinislied  his  time  ;  he  quitted  tlie  service, 
and  went  to  Paris  witli  liis  charmer.  .  .  .  Then 
it  was  a  dancer.  .  .  .  Tlien  it  was  an  actress. 
Then  a  circus-rider.  Me  tried  life  in  every 
form.  He  leel  the  brilliant  and  miserable  existence 
of  the  unoccupied. 

But  it  was  only  tliree  or  four  months  that  he 
passed  in  Paris  eacli  year.  His  motlii-r  matle  liim 
an  allowance  of  thirty  thousand  francs,  and  had 
declared  to  him,  that  never,  wliile  slie  lived,  should 
he  have  another  penny  before  his  marriage.  He 
knew  his  mother ;  he  knew  he  must  consider  her 
words  as  serious.  Thus,  wishing  to  make  a  good 
figure  in  Paris,  and  lead  a  merry  life,  he  S])ent  his 
thirty  thousand  francs  in  tliree  monllis,  antl  then 
docilelv  returned   to   Lavardens,  wiiere   he  was   "out 


News  of  the  Sale.     (Opposite  page  lo.) 


THE  ABB&    CONSTANTIN.  II 

at  grass."  He  spent  his  time  hunting,  fishing,  and 
riding  witli  the  officers  of  the  artillery  regiment 
quartered  at  Souvigny.  The  little  provincial  milli- 
ners and  "  grisettes "  replaced,  without  rendering 
him  oblivious  of,  the  little  singers  and  actresses  of 
Paris.  By. searching  for  them,  one  may  still  tind 
grisettes  in  country  towns,  and  Paul  de  Lavardens 
sought  assiduously. 

As  soon  as  the  Cure  had  reached  Madame  de 
Lavardens,   she  said : 

'•Without  waiting  for  M.  de  Larnac,  I  can  tell 
you  the  names  of  the  purchasers  of  the  domain  of 
Longueval.  I  am  quite  easy  on  the  subject,  and 
have  no  doubt  of  tlie  success  of  our  plan.  In  order 
to  avoid  any  foolisli  disputes,  we  have  agreed 
amongst  ourselves ;  that  is,  between  our  neighbor 
M.  de  Larnac,  AL  Gallard,  a  great  Parisian  banker, 
and  myself.  AI.  de  Larnac  will  have  La  Mionne, 
AI.  Gallard  the  castle  and  Blanche-Couronne,  and  I 
—  La  Rozeraie.  I  know  you,  ATonsieur  le  Cur^, — 
you  will  be  anxious  about  your  poor;  but  comfort 
yourself.  These  Gallards  are  rich,  and  will  give  you 
plenty  of  money." 

At  this  moment  a  cloud  of  dust  appeared  on  the 
road,   from  it  emerged  a  carriage. 

'•Here  comes  AI.  de  Larnac!"  cried  Paul;  "I 
know   his  ponies  !  " 

All  three  hurriedly  descended  from  the  terrace 
and  returned  to  the  castle.  They  arrived  there 
just  as  AI.  de  Larnac's  carriage  drove  up  to  the  en- 
trance. 

"Well?"  asked  Aladame   de   Lavardens. 


12  the'abbA  constantin. 

"Well!"  replied  M.  cle  Laniac,  '-we  have  noth- 
ing." 

"What?  Nothing?"'  cried  Madame  de  Lavar- 
dens,   very  pale  and  agitated. 

"Nothing,  nothing;  absolutely  nothing  —  the 
one  or  the  other  of  us." 

And  M.  de  Larnac,  springing  from  his  carriage, 
related  what  had  taken  place  at  the  sale  before  the 
Tribunal  of  Souvigny. 

"At  first,"  he  said,  "everything  went  ujwn 
wheels.  The  castle  went  to  M.  Gallard  for  six 
hundred  and  fifty  thousand  francs.  No  competitor 
—  a  rise  of  fifty  francs  had  been  suflicient.  On  the 
other  hand,  there  Avas  a  little  battle  for  Blanche- 
Couronne.  The  bids  rose  from  five  hundred  thou- 
sand francs,  to  five  hundred  and  twenty  thousand 
francs,  and  again  M.  Gallard  was  victorious.  An- 
other and  more  animated  battle  for  La  Rozeraie ;  at 
last  it  was  knocked  down  to  you,  Madame,  for  four 
hundred  and  fifty-five  thousand  francs.  ...  I 
got  the  forest  of  La  Mionne  without  opposition  at  a 
rise  of  one  hundred  fiancs.  All  seemed  over,  those 
present  had  risen,  our  solicitors  were  surrounded 
with  persons  asking  the  names  of  the  purchasers. 

"  M.  Brazier,  the  judge  intrusted  with  the  sale, 
desired  silence,  and  the  bailiff  of  the  court  offered 
the  four  lots  together  for  two  million  one  hundred 
and  fifty  or  sixty  thousand  francs,  I  don't  remember 
which.  A  murmur  passed  through  the  assembly. 
'  No  one  will  bid '  was  heard  on  all  sides.  But  little 
Gibert,  the  solicitor,  who  was  seated  in  the  first  row, 
and  till  then  had  given  no  sign  of  life,  rose  and  said 


THE  ABB  A    CONSTA.VTIN.  13 

calmly.  '  I  have  a  purchaser  for  the  four  lots  to- 
gether at  two  millions  two  liundred  thousand  francs.' 
This  was  like  a  thunderbolt.  A  tremendous  clamor 
arose,  followed  Ijy  a  dead  silence.  The  hall  was 
tilled  witli  farmers  and  laborers  from  the  neighbor- 
hood. Two  million  francs !  So  much  money  for 
the  land  tln-ew  them  into  a  sort  of  respectful  stupor. 
However,  M.  (iallard  bending  towards  Sandrier,  the 
solicitor  who  had  bid  for  him,  whispered  something 
in  his  ear.  The  struggle  began  between  Gibert  and 
Sandrier.  The  bids  rose  to  two  millions  five  hundred 
thousand  francs.  AI.  Gallard  hesitated  for  a  moment 
—  decided  —  continued  up  to  three  millions.  Then 
he  stopped  and  the  whole  went  to  Gibert.  Every 
one  rushed  on  him,  the\-  surrounded  —  they  crushed 
him,  '  The  name,  the  name  of  the  purchaser?  ' —  'It 
is  an  American,"  replied  Gibert,    'Airs.    .Scott. ^  " 

"Mrs.  Scott!"'  cried  Paul  de  Lavardens. 

"You  know  her?"'  asked  .\Iadame  de  Lavar- 
dens. 

"Do  I  know  her?"" — -do  1  —  not  at  all.  But 
I  was  at  a  l)all  at   her  house  six  weeks  ago."" 

"  At  a  ball  at  her  house  !  and  you  don"t  know 
her?     Wliat  sort  of  a  woman  is  she,   then?" 

"  Ciiarming,  delightful,   ideal,  a  miracle!" 

"And  is  there  a  Mr.   Scott?" 

"Certainly,  a  tall,  fair  man.  He  was  at  her  ball, 
they  pointed  him  out  to  me.  He  bowed  at  random 
right  and  left.  He  was  not  much  amused,  1  will 
answer  lor  it.  He  looked  at  us  as  it  he  were  think- 
ing, 'Who  are  all  tliese  ])eople  ?  What  are  tliey 
doin<i  at  mv  house?"     We  went  to  see  Mrs.    .Scott 


14  THE  ABB&    CONSTAXTIN. 

and  Miss  Percival,  her  sister.  And  certainly  it  was 
well  worth  the  trouble." 

"  These  Scotts,"  said  Madame  de  Lavardens,  ad- 
dressing M.  de  Larnac,  "  do  you  know  who  they  are? " 

"Yes,  Madame,  I  know.  Mr.  .Scott  is  an  Ameri- 
can, possessing  a  colossal  fortune,  who  settled  him- 
self in  Paris  last  year.  As  soon  as  their  name  was 
mentioned.  I  understood  that  the  victory  had  never 
been  doubtful.  Gallard  was  beaten  beforehand. 
The  Scotts  began  bv  I)U\ing  a  house  in  Paris  for 
two   million  francs  :    it   is   near  the   Pare  Monceau." 

"Yes,  Rue  .Murillo,"  said  Paul;  "I  tell  you  I 
went  to  a  ball  there.      It  was  "  — 

"  Let  M.  de  Larnac  speak.  You  can  tell  us  pres- 
ently about  the  ball  at  Mrs.  Scott's." 

"Well,  now,  imagine  my  Americans  established 
in  Paris,"  continued  M.  de  Larnac,  "  and  the  showers 
of  gold  begun.  In  the  orthodox  parvenu  style  they 
amuse  tliemselves  with  tin-owing  handfuls  of  gold 
out  of  window.  Their  great  wealth  is  (juite  recent, 
they  say;  ten  years  ago  Mrs.  Scott  begged  in  the 
streets  of  New  York." 

"  Begged  !" 

"  They  .say  so.  Then  she  married  tiiis  Scott,  the 
son  of  a  New  York  ])ankcr,  and  all  at  once  a  succes.s- 
ful  lawsuit  ])ut  into  their  hands  not  millions,  but  tens 
of  millons.  Somewhere  in  America  they  have  a 
silver  mine,  but  a  genuine  mine,  a  real  mine — a 
mine  with  silver  in  it.  All  I  we  shall  see  what 
lu.Kury  will  reign  at  Longucval  I  We  shall  ail  look 
like  i)aupers  l)esid(;  them  I  It  is  said  that  they  have 
one  hundred  tiiousand  francs  a  day  to  s[)end." 


THE  ABB£    CONSTANTIN.  I5 

"Such  are  our  neighbors!"  cried  Madame  de 
Lavardens.  "  An  adventuress  !  and  that  is  the  least 
of  it  — a  heretic,  Monsieur  TAbb^,  a  Protestant !  " 

A  heretic  !  a  Protestant  !  Poor  Cur6  ;  it  was  indeed 
that  of  which  he  had  immediately  thought  on  hearing 
the  words,  "An  American,  Mrs.  Scott."  The  new 
cliatelaine  of  Longueval  would  not  go  to  mass.  What 
did  it  matter  to  him  that  slie  had  been  a  beggar  ? 
What  did  it  matter  to  him  if  slie  possessed  her  tens 
and  tens  of  millions  ?  She  was  not  a  Catholic.  He 
would  never  again  baptize  children  born  at  Longueval ; 
and  the  chapel  in  the  castle,  where  he  had  so  often 
said  mass,  would  be  transformed  into  a  Protestant 
oratory,  which  would  echo  only  the  frigid  utterances 
of  a  Calvinistic  or  Lutheran  pastor. 

Every  one  was  distressed,  disappointed  over- 
whelmed ;  but  in  the  midst  of  the  general  depression 
Paul  stood  radiant. 

"  A  charming  heretic,  at  all  events,"  said  he,  "  or 
rather  two  charming  heretics.  You  should  see  the 
two  sisters  on  horseback  in  the  Bois,  with  two  little 
grooms  behind  tliem  not  higlier  than  that." 

"  Come,  Paul,  tell  us  all  you  know.  Describe  the 
ball  of  which  you  speak.  How  did  you  liappen  to  go 
to  a  ball  at  these  Americans'?" 

"  By  the  gi-eatest  chance.  My  aunt  Valentine  was 
at  home  that  night ;  I  looked  in  about  ten  o'clock. 
Well,  aunt  Valentine's  Wednesdays  are  not  exactly 
scenes  of  wild  enjoyment,  give  you  my  word  !  I  liad 
been  there  about  twenty  minutes  when  I  caught  sight 
of  Roger  de  Puymartin  escaping  furtively.  I  caught 
him  in  the  hall,  and  said: 


l6  THE  abbA   COXSTA.VTIN. 

"  '  We  will  go  home  together.' 

"  '  Oh!   I  am  not  going  home.' 

"  'Where  are  you  going?' 

"  'To  the  ball  ' 

' '  '  Where  ? ' 

"  '  At  Mrs.  Scott's.     Will  you  come?' 

"  '  But  I  have  not  been  invited.' 

"  '  Neither  have  I.' 

"  '  What  !  not  invited  ? ' 

"  '  No.      1  am  going  with  one  of  my  friends.' 

"  '  And  docs  your  friend  know  them?  ' 

"'Scarcely;  but  enough  to  introduce  us.  Come 
along;  you  will  see  IMrs.  Scott." 

"  '  Oh  I  I  have  seen  her,  on  horseback  in  the 
Bois.' 

"  '  P)Ut  she  does  not  wear  a  low  gown  on  horse- 
back ;  vou  have  not  seen  her  shoulders,  and  they  are 
shoulders  which  ought  to  be  seen.  There  is  nothing 
better  in  Paris  at  this  moment." 

"And  I  went  to  the  ball,  and  I  saw  Mrs.  Scott's 
red  hair,  and  I  saw  Mrs.  Scott's  white  shoulders,  and 
I  hope  to  see  them  again  when  there  are  lialls  at 
Longueval." 

"Paul!""  said  Madame  de  Lavardens,  ])ointing  to 
the  Abb6. 

"  Oh  !  Monsieur  TAbbe,  I  beg  a  tliousand 
pardons.    Have  I  said  anything?    It  seems  to  me  —  "' 

The  poor  old  priest  had  heard  nothing ;  his  thoughts 
were  elsewhere.  Already  he  saw,  in  the  \-illage 
streets,  the  Protestant  pastor  from  the  castle  stopping 
before  each  house,  and  slipping  under  the  doors 
little  evangelical  tracts. 


THE  ABB&    CONSTAMTIN.  1 7 

Continuing  his  account,  Paul  launched  into  an 
enthusiastic  description  of  the  mansion,  wliich  was 
a  marvel  — 

"  Of  bad  taste  and  ostentation,''  interrupted 
Madame  de  Lavardens. 

"  Not  at  all,  mother,  not  at  all ;  nothing  startling, 
nothing  loud.  It  is  admirably  furnished,  everything 
done  with  elegance  and  originality.  An  incompa- 
rable conservatory,  flooded  with  electric  light ;  the 
buftet  was  placed  in  the  conservatory  under  a  vine 
laden  with  grapes,  which  one  could  gather  by  hand- 
fuls,  and  in  the  month  of  April !  The  accessories 
of  the  cotillon  cost,  it  appears,  more  than  forty 
thousand  francs.  Ornaments,  bonbonni^res,  deli- 
cious trifles,  and  we  were  begged  to  accept  them. 
For  my  part  I  took  nothing,  but  tliere  were  many 
who  made  no  scruple.  That  evening  Puymartin  told 
me  Mrs.  Scotfs  liistory,  but  it  was  not  at  all  like 
M.  de  Larnac's  story.  Roger  said  that,  when  quite 
little,  Mrs.  Scott  had  been  stolen  from  her  family  by 
some  acrobats,  and  that  lier  father  liad  found  her  in 
a  travelling  circus,  riding  on  l^are-backed  horses  and 
jumping  through  paper  hoops." 

"A  circus-rider  I  ■■  cried  Madame  de  Lavardens; 
"  I  should  have  preferred  the  beggar." 

"And  while  Roger  was  telling  me  tliis  Petit 
yoiinial  roma.ncG^,  I  saw  approaching  from  the  end  of 
a  gallery  a  wonderful  cloud  of  lace  and  satin  ;  it  sur- 
rounded this  rider  from  a  wandering  circus,  and  I 
admired  those  shoulders,  those  dazzling  shoulders, 
on  wliich  undulated  a  necklace  of  diamonds  as  big 
as   the   stopper  of   a   decanter.      Tliey  .say  that  the 


l8  THE  ABB&    COA^STANTIN. 

Minister  of  Finance  had  sold  secretly  to  Mrs.  Scott 
half  the  crown  diamonds,  and  that  that  was  how,  the 
month  before,  he  had  been  able  to  sliow  a  surplus  of 
fifteen  hundred  thousand  francs  in  the  budget.  Add 
to  all  this  that  the  little  acrobat  had  an  air  of  good 
breeding,  and  seemed  perfectly  at  home  in  the  midst 
of  all  this  splendor." 

Paul  was  going  so  far  that  his  mother  was  obliged 
to  stop  him.  Before  M.  de  Larnac,  who  was  ex- 
cessively anno}"ed  and  disappointed,  he  showed  too 
plainly  his  delight  at  the  prospect  of  having  tliis 
marvellous  American  for  a  near  neighbor. 

The  Abb(§  Constantin  was  preparing  to  return  to 
Longueval,  but  Paul,  seeing  him  ready  to  start, 
said  : 

"No!  no!  Monsieur  le  Cure,  you  must  not  think 
of  walking  back  to  Longueval  in  the  heat  of  the  day. 
Allow  me  to  drive  you  home.  I  am  really  grieved 
to  see  you  so  cast  down,  and  will  try  my  best  to 
amuse  you.  Oh  !  if  you  were  ten  times  a  saint  I 
would  make  you  laugh  at  my  stories." 

And  half  an  liour  after,  the  two  —  tlie  Cure  and 
Paul  —  drove  side  by  side  in  tlie  direction  of  the 
village.  Paul  talked,  talked,  talked.  His  mother 
was  not  there  to  check  or  moderate  liis  transports, 
and  his  joy  was  overflowing. 

"  Now,  look  here,  Monsieur  FAl^be,  you  are  wrong 
to  take  things  in  this  tragic  manner.  .  .  .  Stay,  look 
at  my  little  mare,  how  well  she  trots !  what  good 
action  slic  lias  I  \'o\\  liavc  not  seen  licr  l)cfore  ?  What 
do  you  tliiiik  I  paid  for  Iilt?  Four  hundred  francs. 
I  discovered   her  a  fortnight  ago,  between  tlie  shafts 


THE   ABB&    CONSTANTIN.  19 

of  a  market-gardener's  cart.  She  is  a  treasure.  I 
assure  you  she  can  do  sixteen  miles  an  hour,  and 
keep  one's  hands  full  all  the  time.  Just  see  how 
she  pulls.  Come,  tot,  tot,  tot  I  You  are  not  in  a 
hurry.  Monsieur  TAbb^,  I  hope.  Let  us  return 
through  the  wood  ;  the  fresh  air  will  do  you  good. 
Oh,  Monsieur  TAbbc^,  if  you  only  knew  what  a 
regard  I  have  for  you,  and  respect  too  I  I  did  not 
talk  too  much  nonsense  before  you  just  now,  did  I  ? 
I  should  be  so  sorry  —  " 

"  No,  my  child,  I  heard  nothing." 
"  Well,  we  will  take  the  longest  way  round."' 
After  having  turned  to  the  left  in  the  wood,  Paul 
resumed  his  subject. 

"I   was  saying.    Monsieur    I'Alibe,"    he   went   on, 
"that  you  are  wrong  to   take    things    so  '  seriously. 
Shall    I    tell    you    what    I    think?     This    is    a    very 
fortunate    aft'air." 
"  Very  fortunate?  " 

"Yes,  very  fortunate.  I  would  rather  see  the 
Scottsat  Longueval  than  the  Gallards.  Did  you  not 
hear  Monsieur  de  Larnac  reproach  these  Americans 
with  spending  their  money  foolishlv.  It  is  never 
foolish  to  spend  money.  The  folly  lies  in  keeping 
it.  Your  poor  —  fjr  1  am  perfectly  sure  that  it  is 
your  poor  of  whom  you  are  thinking  —  your  poor 
have  made  a  good  th.ing  of  it  to-day.  That  is  mv 
opinion.  The  religion?  Well,  they  will  not  go  to 
mass,  and  that  will  be  a  grief  to  you,  that  is  only 
natural  ;  but  they  will  send  vou  monev,  ])lcnty  of 
mone}',  and  vou  will  take  it,  and  nou  will  be  f|uite 
right   in  doing  so.      You  will  see   that  you  will   not 


20  THE  ABB&    CONSTANTIN. 

say  no.  There  will  be  gold  raining  over  the  whole 
place ;  a  movement,  a  bustle,  carriages  with  four 
horses,  postillions,  powdered  footmen,  paper  chases, 
hunting-parties,  balls,  fireworks,  and  here  in  this 
very  spot  I  shall  perhaps  find  Paris  again  before 
long.  I  shall  see  once  more  the  two  riders  and  the 
two  little  grooms  of  whom  I  was  speaking  just  now. 
If  you  only  knew  how  well  those  two  sisters  look  on 
horseback !  One  morning  I  went  right  round  the 
Bois  de  Boulogne  behind  them  ;  I  fancy  I  can  see 
them  still.  They  had  high  hats,  and  little  black 
veils  drawn  very  tightly  over  their  faces,  and  long 
riding-habits  made  in  the  princess  form,  with  a  single 
seam  right  down  the  back ;  and  a  woman  must  be 
awfully  well  made  to  wear  a  riding-habit  like  that, 
because,  you  see,  Monsieur  TAbb^,  with  a  habit  of 
that  cut  there  is  no  deception  possible." 

For  some  moments  the  Cure  had  not  been  listen- 
ing to  PauKs  discourse.  They  had  entered  a  h^ig, 
perfectly  straight  avenue,  and  at  the  end  of  this 
avenue  the  Cur6  saw  a  horseman  galloping  aU)ng. 

"Look,"  said  the  Cure  to  Paul,  "your  eyes  are 
better  than  mine  :  is  not  that  Jean?" 

"  Yes,  it  is  Jean.      I  know  his  gray  mare." 

Paul  loved  horses,  and  before  looking  at  the  rider 
looked  at  the  horse.  It  was  indeed  Jean,  who,  when 
he  saw  in  the  distance  the  Cur6  and  Paul  de  Lavar- 
dens,  waved  in  the  air  his  kepi,  adorned  with  two 
golden  stripes.  Jean  was  lieutenant  in  tlic  regiment 
of  artillery  quartered  at  Souvigny. 

Some  moments  after  he  stopped  by  the  little  car- 
riage, and,  addressing  the  Cur6,  said: 


TFIE  ABB&    CONSTANTLY.  3  1 

"  I  liave  just  been  to  your  liouse,  inon  parrain. 
I'auline  told  me  tliat  you  had  gone  to  Souvigny  about 
the  sale.      Well,  who  has  bought  the  castle?" 

"An  American  —  Mrs.  Scott." 

"  And  Blanche-Couronne? "' 

"The  same  Mrs.  Scott." 

"  And  La  Rozeraie?" 

"  Mrs.  Scott  again." 

"  And  the  forest?     Mrs.  Scott  again?" 

"You  have  said  it,"  replied  Paul;  •■  and  I  know 
Mrs.  Scott,  and  I  can  promise  you  that  there  will  be 
something  going  on  at  Longneval.  I  will  introduce 
you.  Only  it  is  distressing  to  Monsieur  I'Abbe  be- 
cause she  is  an  American  —  a  Protestant." 

"Ah!  that  is  tme,"  said  Jean,  sympathizingly. 
"  However,  we  will  talk  about  it  to-morrow.  I  am 
going  to  dine  with  you,  godfather;  I  have  warned 
Pauline  of  my  visit ;  no  time  to  stop  to-day.  I  am 
on  duty,  and  must  be  in  quarters  at  three  o'clock." 

"  Stables?"  asked  Paul. 

"  Yes.      Good-by,  Paul.      To-morrow,  godfather." 

The  lieutenant  galloped  away.  Paul  de  Lavardens 
gave  his  little  horse  her  head. 

"  What  a  capital  fellow  Jean  is  !  "  said  Paul. 

"  Oh,  yes,  indeed." 

"There  is  no  one  on  earth  better  than  Jean." 

"  No,  no  one." 

The  Cur6  tiuuied  round  to  take  another  look  at 
Jean,  who  was  almost  lost  in  the  depths  of  the 
forest. 

"  Oh,  yes,  there  is, — yon.  Monsieur  le  Curd;." 

"  No,  not  I  !   not  I  ! 


22 


THE   ABB&    CONSTANTIX. 


"Well,  .Monsieur  TAbb^,  shall  I  tell  you  what 
I  think?  —  !  think  there  is  no  one  better  than  you 
two  —  vou  and  Jean.  That  is  the  truth,  if  I  must 
tell  you.  Oh,  what  a  splendid  place  for  a  trot  !  I 
shall  let  Niniche  go;  I  call  her  Niniche." 

With  the  tip  of  his  whip  Paul  caressed  the  flank 
of  Niniche,  who  started  off  at  full  speed,  and  Paul, 
delighted,  cried  : 

"Just  look  at  her  action,  .Monsieur  TAhljc  I  Just 
look  at  her  acti<Mi  !  So  regular  —  just  like  clock- 
work.     Lean  over  and  look." 

To  please  Paul  de  Lavardens  the  Abb6  Constantin 
did  lean  over  and  look  at  Niniche's  action,  but  the 
old  priest's  thoughts  were  far  away. 


.'f.  :^ 


CHAPTER    II. 


This  sub-lieutenant  of  artillery  was  called  Jean 
Reynaud.  .  He  was  the  son  of  a  country  doctor  who 
lay  in  the  churchyard  of  Longueval. 

In  1846,  wlien  the  Al^lje  Constantin  took  posses- 
sion of  liis  little  living,  the  grandfather  ot  Jean 
was  residing  in  a  pleasant  cottage  on  the  road  to 
Souvigny,  between  the  castles  of  Longueval  and 
Lavardens. 

Marcel,  the  son  ofth.it  Dr.  Ruvnaud,  was  finishing 
liis  medical  studies  in  I'aris.  He  possessed  great 
industry,  and  an  elevation  of  sentiment  and  mind 
extremely  rare.  He  passed  his  e.\aminations  witli 
great  distinction,  and  had  decided  to  fi.x  his  abode 
in  Paris  and  tempt  fortune  there ;  and  everything 
seemed  to  promise  him  the  most  prosperous  and 
brilliant  career,  when  in    1852   he   received  the  news 


24  THE   ABB&    CONSTANTIN. 

of  his  father's  death  —  he  had  been  struck  down  by  a 
fit  of  apoplexy.  Marcel  hurried  to  Longueval  over- 
whelmed with  grief,  for  lie  adored  his  father.  He 
spent  a  month  with  his  mother,  and  then  spoke  of 
the  necessity  of  returning  to  Paris. 

"  That  is  true,"  .said  his  mother;    "  you  must  go." 

"What!  I  must  go!  ]\^c  must  go,  you  mean. 
Do  vou  tliink  tliat  I  would  leave  you  here  alone? 
I  shall  take  you  with  me." 

"  To  live  in  Paris?  to  leave  the  place  where  I  was 
born,  where  your  father  lived,  where  he  died?  I 
could  never  do  it,  my  child,  never  !  Go  alone  ;  your 
life,  your  future,  are  there.  I  know  you;  I  know 
that  you  will  never  forget  me,  that  you  will  come  and 
see  me  often,  very  often."" 

"  No,  mother,'"  he  answered;    ■•  I   will  stay  here." 

And  he  stayed. 

His  hopes,  his  ambitions,  all  in  one  moment  van- 
ished. He  saw  only  one  thing  —  dul\  —  the  duty  of 
not  abandoning  his  aged  motlicr.  In  this  duty,  simply 
accepted  and  simply  discliarged,  he  found  happiness. 
After  all,  it  is  only  thus  that  one  does  find  happiness. 

Marcel  bowed  with  courage  and  good  grace  to  his 
new  existence.  He  continued  his  father's  life,  en- 
tering the  groove  at  the  very  spot  where  he  had  left 
it.  He  devoted  himself  without  regret  to  the  obscure 
career  of  a  country  doctor.  His  father  had  left  him 
a  little  land  and  a  little  money;  he  lived  in  the 
simplest  manner  ])ossible,  and  one-half  of  his  life 
belonged  to  the  poor,  from  whom  he  would  never 
receive  a  penny. 

This  was  his  only  luxury. 


THE  abb£  constantin.  25 

He  found  in  liis  wav  a  young  girl,  charming,  pen- 
niless, and  alone  in  the  world.  He  married  her. 
This  was  in  1855,  and  the  following  year  brought  to 
Dr.  Reynaud  a  great  sorrow  and  a  great  joy, — the 
death  of  his  old  mother  and  the  birth  of  his  son  Jean. 

At  an  interval  of  six  weeks,  the  Abbe  Constantin 
recited  the  prayers  for  the  dead  over  the  grave  of  the 
grandmother,  and  was  present  in  the  position  of  god- 
father at  the  baptism  of  the  grandson. 

In  consequence  of  constantly  meeting  at  the  bed- 
side of  the  suffering  and  dying,  the  priest  and  the 
doctor  had  been  strongly  attracted  to  each  other. 
They  instinctively  felt  that  they  belonged  to  the  same 
family,  the  same  race,  —  the  race  of  the  tender,  the 
just,  and  the  benevolent. 

^'ear  followed  year  —  calm,  peaceful,  fully  occupied 
in  labor  and  duty.  Jean  was  no  longer  a  child. 
His  father  gave  him  his  tirst  lessons  in  reading  and 
writing,  the  priest  his  first  lessons  in  Latin.  Jean 
was  intelligent  and  industrious.  He  made  so  much 
progress  that  the  two  teachers  —  particularly  the 
Cure  —  foimd  themselves  at  the  end  of  a  few  years 
rather  cast  into  the  shade  by  their  pupil.  It  was  at 
tliis  moment  that  the  Countess,  after  the  death  of 
her  husband,  came  to  settle  at  Lavardens.  She 
brought  with  her  a  tutor  for  her  son  Paul,  who  was 
a  very  nice  l)ut  very  lazy  little  fellow.  The  two 
children  were  of  the  same  age ;  they  had  known 
each  other  from   llieir  earliest  years. 

Madame  de  La\ardens  had  a  great  regard  for  Dr. 
Reynaud,  and  one  day  she  made  him  the  following 
proposal : 


26  THE   ABB  A    CONST ANTIN. 

"  Send  Jean  to  me  every  morninij,"  said  she;  "  I 
will  send  him  home  in  the  evening,  l^aul's  tutor 
is  a  very  accomplislied  man ;  he  will  make  tlie 
cliil(h'en  work  together.  It  will  ]3e  rendering  me  a 
real  .service.      Jean  will  set  Paul  a  good  example." 

Things  were  thus  arranged,  and  the  li^ttle  bourgeois 
set  the  little  nobleman  a  most  excellent  e.xample  of 
industry  and  application  ;  l)ut  this  excellent  example 
was  not  followed. 

The  war  broke  out.  On  November  14,  at  seven 
o'clock  in  llie  morning,  the  "  Reserves"  of  Souvigny 
assembled  in  the  great  square  of  tlie  town ;  their 
chaplain  was  the  .^bbe  Constantin.  their  surgeon- 
major  Dr.  Reynaud.  The  same  idea  had  come  at 
the  same  moment  to  both  :  the  priest  was  si.xty-two, 
the  doctor  fifty. 

When  thev  started,  thi-  battalion  followed  the 
road  wliicli  led  through  Longueval.  and  passed 
before  the  doctoi'"s  house.  Madame  Reynaud  and 
Jean  were  waiting  by  the  roadside. 

The  child  threw  himself  into  his  father's  arms. 

"  Take  me  too,  papa  !  take  me  too  I  " 

Madame  Reynaud  wept.  'Hie  doctor  held  them 
botii  in  a  long  embrace:   then  he  continued   his  way. 

A  hundred  steps  farther  the  road  made  a  sharp 
curve.  The  doctor  tui'ned,  cast  one  long  look  at 
his  wife  and  child  —  the  last :  lie  was  never  to  see 
them  again. 

On  January  S,  iSyi,  the  tr()0])s  of  .Souvigny  at- 
tacked tiie  village  of  V'illersexel,  occupied  by  the 
Prussians,  who  had  jjarricaded  themselves.  The 
tiring  began.     A  soldier  wlio  marched  in  the  front 


THE  ABBA    CONSTANTIiY.  27 

rank  received  a  ball  in  the  chest  and  fell.  There 
was  a  short  moment  of  trouble  and  hesitation. 

"  Forward  !  forward  !  "  shouted  tlie  officers. 

The  men  passed  over  the  body  of  their  comrade, 
and  under  a  hail  of  bullets  entered  the  town. 

Dr.  Reynaud  and  the  Abb6  Constantin  marched 
with  tlie  troops  :  tliey  halted  near  the  wounded  man  : 
the  blood  was  rushing  in  floods  from  his  mouth. 

"There  is  notliing  to  bj  done,"  said  the  doctor. 
"  He  is  dying:   he  belongs  to  you." 

The  priest  knelt  down  by  the  dying  man,  and  tlie 
doctor  rose  to  go  towards  the  village.  He  had  not 
taken  ten  steps  when  he  stopped,  beat  the  air  with 
both  hands,  and  fell  all  at  once  to  the  ground.  The 
priest  ran  to  him;  he  was  dead  —  killed  on  the  spot 
by  a  bullet  through  the  temples.  That  evening  the 
village  was  ours,  and  the  next  day  they  placed  in  the 
cemetery  of  Villersexel  the  body  of  Dr.  Reynaud. 

Two  months  later  the  Abb6  Constantin  took  jjack 
to  Longueval  the  coffin  of  his  friend,  and  behind  the 
coffin  when  it  was  carried  from  the  church  walked  an 
orphan.  Jean  had  also  lost  his  mother.  At  the 
news  of  hjr  husband's  death  Madame  Reynaud  had 
remained  for  twenty-four  hours  overwhelmed,  crushed, 
without  a  word  or  a  tear ;  then  fever  had  seized  her, 
tlien  delirium,  and  after  a  fortnight,  death. 

Jean  was  alone  in  the  world ;  he  was  fourteen 
years  old.  Of  tliat  family,  w^liere  for  more  than  a 
century  all  had  been  good  and  honest,  there  remained 
only  a  child  kneeling  beside  a  grave  ;  but  he,  too, 
l)romised  to  l)e  what  his  father  and  his  grandfather 
before  him  had  been,  — good  and  honest  and  true- 


28  THE   ABB&    CONSTAXriN. 

There  are  families  like  that  in  France,  and  many 
of  them,  more  than  one  ventures  to  say.  Our  poor 
country  is  in  many  respects  cruelly  calumniated  by 
certain  novelists,  who  draw  exaggerated  and  distorted 
pictures  of  it.  It  is  true  the  history  of  good  people 
is  often  monotonous  or  painful.  This  story  is  a 
proof  of  it. 

The  grief  of  Jean  was  the  grief  of  a  man.  He  re- 
mained long  sad  and  long  silent.  The  evening  of 
his  father's  funeral  the  Abb6  Constantin  took  him 
home  to  tlie  vicarage.  The  day  had  been  rainy  and 
cold.  Jean  was  sitting  ])y  the  fireside ;  the  priest 
was  reading  his  breviary  opposite  him.  Old  Pauline 
came  and  went,  attending  to  her  duties. 

An  hour  i)assed  witliout  a  word,  wlien  Jean,  rais- 
ing his  head,  .said  : 

"  Godfather,  did  my  father  leave  me  any  money?" 

This  question  was  so  extraordinary  tliat  the  old 
priest,  stupefied,  could  scarcely  believe  that  he  heard 
aright. 

"  You  ask  if  vour  father  — "" 

"  1  asked  if  my  father  left  me  some  money?  " 

"  Yes;  lie  must  have  left  you  some." 

"A  good  deal,  don't  you  think?  1  have  often 
heard  people  say  that  my  father  was  rich.  Tell  me 
aljout  how  mucli  he  has  left  me  ? "' 

"  But  I  don't  know.      You  ask  —  " 

Tlie  poor  old  man  felt  his  lieart  rent  in  Iwaiii. 
.Such  a  (jucstion  at  such  a  moment  I  Yet  he  thouglit 
he  knew  the  boy's  heart,  and  in  that  Iieart  there 
should  not  be  room  for  such  thoughts. 

"Pray,  dear  godfather,  tell   me,"  continued  Jean- 


THE  ABB  A    COIVSTANTIN.  29 

gently.  ••  I  will  explain  to  you  afterwards  why  I  ask 
that." 

"  Well,  they  say  your  father  had  two  or  three 
hundred  thousand  francs."' 

••  And  is  that  much?" 

"  Yes,  it  is  a  great  deal." 

"  And  it  is  all  mine?  " 

"  Yes,  it  is  all  yours." 

"  Oh  !  I  am  glad,  because,  you  know,  the  day  that 
my  father  was  killed  in  the  war,  tiie  Prussians  killed 
at  the  same  time 'the  son  of  a  poor  woman  in  Lon- 
gueval,  —  old  C16mence,  you  know  ;  and  they  killed, 
too,  Rosalie's  brother,  whom  I  used  to  play  with 
when  I  was  quite  little.  Well,  since  I  am  rich 
and  they  are  poor,  I  will  divide  with  Clemence  and 
Rosalie  the  money  my  father  has  left  me." 

On  hearing  these  words  the  Cure  rose,  took  Jean  by 
both  hands,  and  drew  him  into  liis  arms.  The  white 
head  rested  on  the  fair  one.  Two  large  tears  escaped 
from  the  old  priest's  eyes,  rolled  slowly  down  his 
cheeks,  and  were  lost  in  the  furrows  of  his  face. 

However,  the  Cur^  was  obliged  to  explain  to  Jean 
that,  though  he  was  his  father's  heir,  he  had  not  the 
right  of  disposing  of  his  heritage  as  he  would.  There 
would  be  a  family  council,  and  a  guardian  would  he 
appointed. 

"  You,  no  doubt,  godfather?  " 

"No,  not  I,  my  child;  a  priest  is  not  allowed 
to  exercise  the  functions  of  a  guardian.  They  will, 
I  think,  choose  M.  Lenient,  the  lawyer  in  Souvigny, 
who  was  one  of  your  father's  best  friends.  You  can 
speak  to  him  and  tell  him  what  you  wish."' 


30  THE  abbA  constantin. 

M.  Lenient  was  eventually  appointed  guardian,  and 
Jean  urged  his  wishes  so  eagerly  and  touchingly  that 
the  lawyer  consented  to  deduct  from  the  income  a 
sum  of  two  thousand  four  hundred  francs,  which, 
every  year  till  Jean  came  of  age,  was  divided  between 
old  Clemence  and  little  Rosalie. 

In  these  circumstances  Madame  de  Lavardens  was 
perfect.     She  went  to  the  Abbe  and  said : 

"  Give  Jean  to  me,  give  him  to  me  entirely  till  he 
has  finished  his  studies.  I  will  bring  him  back  to 
you  every  year  during  the  holidays.  It  is  not  a  ser- 
vice I  am  rendering  you ;  it  is  a  service  which  I 
ask  of  you.  I  cannot  imagine  any  greater  good  for- 
tune for  my  son  than  to  have  Jean  for  a  companion. 
I  must  resign  myself  to  leaving  Lavardens  for  a 
time.  Paul  is  bent  \\\wn  being  a  soldier  and  going 
up  to  Saint-Cyr.  It  is  oniy  in  Paris  that  I  can 
ol)tain  the  necessary  masters.  I  will  take  the  two 
boys  tliere  :  they  will  study  together  under  my  own 
eyes  like  brothers,  and  I  will  make  no  difference 
between  them  ;   of  that  you   may  be  sure." 

It  was  difficult  to  refuse  such  an  offer.  The  old 
Cur6  would  have  dearly  liked  to  keep  Jean  with  him, 
and  his  heart  was  torn  at  the  thought  of  this  separa- 
tion ;  but  what  was  for  the  child's  real  interest? 
That  was  the  only  question  to  be  considered ;  the 
rest  was   nothing.     They  summoned  Jean. 

"  My  child,"'  said  Madame  de  Lavardens  to  him, 
"will  you  come  and  live  with  Paul  and  me  for 
some  years?     I  will  take  you  both  to  Paris." 

"You  are  very  kind,  Madame,  but  I  should  have 
liked  so   much  to  stay  here." 


THE  ABB£    COySTAMTIN.  31 

He  looked  at  the  Cure,  who  turned  away  Iiis 
eyes. 

"  W^iy  must  we  go?"  he  continued.  "Why 
must  you  take  Paul  and  me  away  ? " 

"  Because  it  is  only  in  Paris  that  you  can  have  all 
the  advantages  necessary  to  complete  your  studies. 
Paul  will  prepare  for  his  examination  at  Saint-Cyr. 
You  know  he  wants  to  be  a  soldier." 

"  So  do  1,  iMadame.     I  wish  to  be  one  too." 

"You  a  soldier!"  exclaimed  the  Curd;  "but 
you  know  that  was  not  at  all  your  father's  idea.  In 
my  presence  he  has  often  spoken  of  your  future, 
your  career.  You  were  to  be  a  doctor,  and  like  him, 
doctor  at  Longueval,  and  like  him,  devote  yourself 
to  the  sick  and  poor.  Jean,  my  child,  do  you  re- 
member? " 

"I  remember;    I   remember." 

"Well,  then,  Jean,  you  must  do  as  your  father 
wished  :  it  is  your  duty,  Jean  ;  it  is  your  duty.  You 
must  go  to  Paris.  You  would  like  to  stay  here,  I 
understand  that  well,  and  I  should  like  it  too  ;  but 
it  cannot  be.  You  must  go  to  Paris,  and  work, 
work  hard.  Not  that  I  am  anxious  about  that ;  you 
are  your  father's  true  son.  You  will  be  an  honest 
and  industrious  man.  One  cannot  well  l)e  the  one 
without  the  other.  And  some  day,  in  your  father's 
house,  in  the  place  where  he  has  done  so  much 
good,  the  poor  people  of  the  country  round  will  find 
another  Dr.  Reynaud,  to  whom  they  may  look  for 
help.  And  I,  —  if  by  chance  I  am  still  in  this  world, 
—  when  that  day  comes,  I  shall  be  so  happy  !  But 
I  am  wrong   to  speak   of  myself;    I    ought   not,  I  do 


32  THE  ABB  A    CONSTAXTIN. 

not  count.  It  is  of  your  father  that  you  must  think. 
I  repeat  it,  Jean,  it  was  his  dearest  wish.  Vou  can- 
not have  forgotten  it." 

"  No,  I  have  not  forgotten;  but  if  my  father  see.s 
me,  and  hears  me,  I  am  certain,  that  he  understands 
and  forgives  me,  for  it  is  on  his  account."' 

"  On  his  account?  "' 

"  Yes.  When  I  heard  tliat  he  was  dead,  and 
when  I  heard  how  he  died,  all  at  once,  without  any 
need  of  reflection,  I  said  to  myself  that  I  would  be 
a  soldier :  and  I  will  be  a  soldier  !  Godfather,  and 
you,  Madame,  I  beg  you  not  to  prevent  me."' 

The  child  burst  into  tears  —  a  perfect  flood  ot 
passionate  tears.  The  Countess  and  the  Abb6 
soothed  him   with   gentle  words. 

"Yes  —  yes  —  it  is  settled,"  they  said;  "any- 
thing that  you  wish,   all  that  you  wish." 

P)Oth  had  the  same  thought, — leave  it  to  time; 
Jean   is  only  a  child  :   he  will  change  his  mind. 

In  this  both  were  mistaken;  Jean  did  not  change 
his  mind.  In  the  month  of  September,  1876,  Paul 
de  Lavardens  was  rejected  at  Saint-Cyr,  and  Jean 
Reynaud  passed  eleventh  at  the  Ecole  Polytechnique. 
The  day  when  the  list  of  the  candidates  who  had 
passed  was  published  he  wrote  to  the  Abbe  Con- 
stantin  : 

"  I  have  passed,  and  passed  too  well,  for  I  want 
to  go  into  the  army,  and  not  the  Civil  Service ;  how- 
ever, if  I  keep  my  place  in  tlie  school,  that  will  be 
the  good  fortune  of  one  of  my  comrades  :  he  will  hav^e 
my  chance." 

It   happened  so  in   the  end.      Jean    Reynaud    did 


THE  ABB  A    CONSTANTIN.  33 

better  tlian  keep  his  place  ;  the  pass  hst  showed  his 
nime  seventh,  but  instead  of  entering  "  TEcole  des 
Fonts  et  Chauss^es,"  he  entered  the  miHtary  college 
at  Fontainebleau  in  1878. 

He  was  then  just  twenty-one ;  he  was  of  age, 
master  of  his  fortune,  and  tlie  first  act  of  tlie  new 
administration  was  a  great,  a  very  great  piece  of 
extravagance.  He  bouglit  for  old  Clemence  and 
little  Rosalie  two  shares  in  government  stock  of 
fifteen  hundred  francs  a  3'ear  each.  That  cost  him 
70,000  francs,  almost  the  sum  that  Paul  de  Lavardens, 
in  his  first  year  of  liberty  in  Paris,  spent  for  Made- 
moiselle Lise  Bruyere,  of  the  Palais  Royal  Theatre. 

Two  years  later  Jean  passed  first  at  the  examina- 
tion, and  left  Fontainebleau  with  the  right  of  choos- 
ing among  the  vacant  places.  There  was  one  in 
the  regiment  quartered  at  Souvigny,  and  Souvigny 
was  three  miles  from  Longueval.  Jean  asked  for 
this,  and  obtained  it. 

Thus  Jean  Reynaud,  lieutenant  in  the  ninth  regi- 
ment of  artillery,  came  in  the  month  of  October, 
1880,  to  take  possession  of  the  house  that  had  been 
his  father's  ;  thus  he  found  himself  once  more  in  the 
place  where  his  childhood  had  passed,  and  where 
every  one  had  kept  green  the  memory  of  the  life  and 
death  of  his  father :  thus  the  Abb6  Constantin  was 
not  denied  che  hapjMness  of  once  again  having  near 
him  the  son  of  his  old  friend,  and.  if  the  truth  must 
be  told,  he  no  longer  wished  that  Jean  had  become 
a  doctor. 

When  the  old  Cure  left  his  church  after  saving 
mass,  when   he  saw  coming  along  the  road  a  irreat 


34  THE  ABB  A    CONSTANTIN. 

cloud  of  dust,  when  lie  felt  the  earth  tremble  under 
the  rumbling  cannon,  he  would  stop,  and  like  a 
child  amuse  himself  with  seeing  the  regiment  pass  ; 
but  to  him  the  regiment  was  —  Jean.  It  was  this 
robust  and  manly  cavalier,  in  whose  face,  as  in  an 
open  ])ook,  one  read  uprightness,  courage,  and 
goodness. 

The  moment  Jean  perceived  the  Cure  he  would 
put  his  horse  to  a  gallop,  and  go  to  have  a  little  chat 
with  his  godfather.  The  horse  would  turn  his  head 
towards  the  Cure,  for  he  knew  \-ery  well  there  was 
always  a  piece  of  sugar  for  him  in  tlie  pocket  of  that 
old  black  soutane — rusty  and  worn  —  the  morning 
soutane.  The  Abb6  Constantin  had  a  beautiful  new 
one  of  which  he  took  great  care,  to  wear  in  society 

—  when  he  w'ent  into  society. 

The  trumpets  of  the  regiment  sounded  as  they 
passed  througii  the  village,  and  all  eyes  sought  Jean 

—  "  little  Jean"  —  for  to  the  old  people  of  Longue- 
val  he  was  still  little  Jean.  Certain  wrinkled, 
broken  down,  old  peasants  had  never  been  able 
to  break  them.selves  of  the  habit  of  saluting  him 
when  he  passed  with,  •'  pjonjour,  gamin,  c^a  va 
bien  ?  " 

He  was  six  feet  higii,  this  "gamin,"  and  Jean 
never  crossed  the  village  without  i)erceiving  at  one 
window  the  old  furrowed  parchment  skin  ol  CI6m- 
ence,  and  at  another  the  smiling  countenance  of 
Rosalie.  The  latter  had  married  during  the  previous 
year,  Jean  had  given  lui-  away,  and  joyously  on  the 
wedding  night  had  he  danced  with  the  girls  of 
Longueval. 


Paulim-.  am>Jian.       <  ii'l" 


THE   ABBf^    COXSTANTIN.  35 

Such  was  the  lieutenant  of  artillery  who  on 
Saturday,  May  28,  1881,  at  half-past  four  in  the 
afternoon,  sprang  from  his  horse  before  the  door  of 
the  vicarage  of  Longueval.  He  entered  the  gate, 
the  horse  obediently  followed,  and  went  by  himself 
into  a  little  shed  in  the  yard.  Pauline  was  at  the 
kitchen  window ;  Jean  approached  and  kissed  her 
heartily  on  both  cheeks. 

"  Good-evening,  Pauline.     Is  all  well?"' 

"Very  well.  I  am  busy  preparing  your  dinner; 
would  you  like  to  know  what  you  are  going  to  have? 
—  potato  soup,  a  leg  of  mutton,  and  a  custard." 

'•That  is  excellent:  I  shall  enjoy  everything,  for 
I   am   dying  of  hunger." 

'And  a  salad;  I  had  forgotten  it;  you  can  help 
me  cut  it  directly.  Dinner  will  be  at  half-past  six 
exactly,  for  at  half-past  seven  Monsieur  le  Cure  has 
his  service  for  the  month  of  Mary." 

"Where  is  my  godfather?" 

"  Vou  will  find  him  in  tlie  garden.  He  is  very 
sad  on  account   of  yesterday's  sale." 

"  Ves,  I  know.  I  know." 

"It  will  cheer  him  a  little  to  see  you;  he  is 
always  so  happy  when  you  are  here.  Take  care  ; 
Loulou  is  going  to  eat  the  climbing  roses.  How  hot 
he  is  ! " 

"  I  came  the  long  way  by  the  wood,  and  rode  very 
fast." 

Jean  captured  Loulou,  who  was  directing  liis  steps 
towards  the  climbing  roses.  He  unsaddled  him, 
fastened  him  in  the  little  shed,  rubbed  him  down 
with  a  great   handful  of   straw,   after  which   he    en- 


2,6  THE  ABB&    CONSTANTIM. 

tered  the  house,  relieved  himself  of  his  sword  and 
k^pi,  replaced  the  latter  by  an  old  straw  hat,  value 
sixpence,  and  then  went  to  look  for  his  godfather  in 
the  garden. 

The  poor  Abbe  was  indeed  sad  ;  he  liad  scarcely 
closed  an  eve  all  night  —  he  who  generally  slept  so 
easily,  so  quietly,  the  sound  sleep  of  a  child.  His 
soul  was  wrung.  Longueval  in  the  hands  of  a  for- 
eigner, of  a  lieretic,  of  an  adventuress  ! 

Jean  repeated  what  Paul  had  said  the  evening 
before . 

"  You  will  have  nioncv,  plenty  of  money,  for  your 
poor."' 

"Money!  money!  Yes,  my  poor  will  not  lose, 
perhaps  they  will  even  gain  liy  it  ;  but  I  must  go  and 
ask  for  this  money,  and  in  the  salon,  instead  of  my 
old  and  dear  friend,  1  shall  find  this  red-haired 
American.  It  seems  that  she  has  red  liairl  I  will 
certainly  go  for  the  sake  of  my  poor —  1  will  go  — 
and  she  will  give  me  the  money,  but  she  will  give 
me  nothing  but  money;  the  Marquise  gave  me  some- 
thing else,  —  her  life  and  her  heart.  Every  week  we 
went  together  to  visit  the  sick  and  the  j^oor ;  she 
knew  all  the  sufferings  and  the  miseries  ot  the  coun- 
try round,  and  when  the  gout  nailed  me  to  my  easy- 
chair  she  made  the  rounds  alone,  and  as  well,  or 
better  llian    I." 

Pauline  inlerrupled  this  conversation.  .She  car- 
ried an  immense  eartlienware  salad-dish,  on  which 
bloomed,  violent  and  startling,  enormous  red 
flowers. 

"  Here   1    am,"  said    Pauline,     "  I    am     going    to 


Jn  the  (Jardex.     (Oiipositc  p-.igc  36.) 


THE  ABB&    CONSTANTIM.  37 

cut  the  salad.  Jean,  would  you  like  lettuce  or  en- 
dive ? " 

"Endive,'"  said  Jean,  gayly.  "  It  is  a  long  time 
since  I  have  had  any  endive." 

"Well,  you  shall  have  some  to-night.  Stay,  take 
the  dish." 

Pauline  began  to  cut  the  endive,  and  Jean  bent 
down  to  receive  the  leaves  in  the  great  .salad-disli. 
The  Cur6  looked  on. 

At  this  moment  a  sound  of  little  Ijells  was  heard. 
A  carriage  was  approaching ;  one  heard  the  jan- 
gling and  creaking  of  its  wheels.  The  Curb's  little 
garden  was  separated  from  the  road  only  by  a  low 
hedge,  in  the  middle  of  which  was  a  little  trellised 
gate. 

All  three  looked  out,  and  saw  driving  down  the 
road  a  hired  carriage  of  most  primitive  construction, 
drawn  by  two  great  white  horses,  and  driven  by  an 
old  coachman  in  a  blouse.  Beside  this  old  coachman 
was  seated  a  tall  footman  in  livery,  of  the  most  severe 
and  correct  demeanor.  In  the  carriage  were  two 
young  women,  dressed  both  alike  in  very  elegant, 
but  very  simple  travelling  costumes. 

When  the  carriage  was  opposite  the  gate  the 
coachman  stopped  his  horses,  and  addressing  tlie 
Abbd' : 

"  Monsieur  le  Cure,"  said  he,  "these  ladies  wisli 
to  speak  to  you." 

Then,  turning  towards  the  ladies  : 

"  This  is  Monsieur  le  Cur6  of  Longueval." 

The  Abb6  Constantin  approached  and  opened  the 
little  gate.      The  travellers   alighted.      Their  looks 


38  THE  ABB&    CONSTANThV. 

rested,  not  without  astonishment,  on  the  young 
officer,  who  stood  there,  a  httle  embarrassed,  with 
his  straw  hat  in  one  hand,  and  his  salad-disli,  al! 
overflowing  with  endive,  in  the  other. 

The  visitors  entered  the  garden,  and  the  elder  — 
she  seemed  about  twenty-five  — addressing  the  Abb6 
Constantin,  said  to  him,  with  a  little  foreign  accent, 
very  original  and  very  peculiar  — 

"I  am  obliged  to  introduce  myself  —  Mrs.  Scott; 
I  am  Airs.  -Scott  !  It  was  I  who  bought  the  castle 
and  farms  and  all  the  rest  here  at  the  sale  yesterday. 
I  hoi)e  that  I  do  not  disturb  you.  and  that  you  can 
spare  me  five  minutes."'  Then,  pointing  to  her 
travelling  companion,  "Miss  Bettina  Percival,  my 
sister;  you  guessed  it,  I  am  sure.  We  are  very 
much  alike,  are  we  not?  .Ah!  P>ettina,  we  have  left 
our  bags  in  the  carriage,  and  we  shall  want  them 
directly." 

"  I  will  get  them." 

And  as  Miss  Percival  prepared  to  go  fcM-  the  two 
little  bags  Jean  .said  to  her : 

"  Pray  allow  me." 

"  I  am  really  very  sorry  to  give  you  so  much 
trouble.  The  servant  will  give  them  to  you  :  they 
are  on  the  front  seat." 

.She  had  the  same  accent  as  her  sister,  the  same 
large  eyes,  black,  laughing,  and  gay,  and  the  same 
hair,  not  red,  but  fair,  with  golden  shades,  where 
daintily  danced  the  light  of  the  sun.  She  bowed  to 
Jean  with  a  pretty  little  smile,  and  he,  having  re- 
turned to  Pauline  the  salad-dish  hill  of  endive,  went 
to  look  for  the   two  little  bajjs.      Meanwhile,   much 


THE  ABB&    CONSTAiVT/.V.  39 

agitated,  sorely  disturbed,  the  Abb6  Constantin  in- 
troduced into  his  vicarage  tlie  new  Chdtelaine  of 
Longueval. 


CHAPTER    111. 

This  vicarage  of  Longueval  was  far  from  being  a 
palace.  The  same  apartment  on  the  ground  floor 
served  for  dining  and  drawing  room,  communicating 
directly  with  the  kitchen  by  a  door,  which  stood  al- 
ways wide  open ;  this  room  was  furnished  in  the 
most  scanty  manner :  two  old  arm-chairs,  six  straw 
chairs,  a  sideboard,  a  round  table.  Pauline  had  al- 
readv  laid  the  cloth  for  the  dinner  of  the  Abbe  and 
Jean. 

Mrs.  Scott  and  AIiss  Percival  went  and  came,  ex- 
amining the  domestic  arrangements  of  the  Cure  with 
a  sort  of  childish  wonder. 

"  But  the  garden,  the  house,  everything  is  charm- 
ing," said  Mrs.  Scott. 

They  both  boldly  penetrated  into  the  kitchen;  the 
Abbe  Constantin  followed   them,  scared,  bewildered, 


40 


THE  ABB&    CO.VSTANT/I^.  41 

stupefied   at  the   suddenness   and   resolution    of  this 
American  invasion. 

Old  Pauline,  with  an  anxious  and  gloomy  air, 
studied  the  two  foreigners. 

"  Here  they  are,  then,"'  she  said  to  herself,  "  these 
Protestants,  these  accursed  heretics  !  " 

"  I  must  compliment  you,"  .said  Bettina ;  "your 
little  kitchen  is  so  beautifully  kept.  Look,  Suzie,  is  not 
the  vicarage  altogether  exactly  what  you  wished?" 

"And  .so  is  the  Cur6,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Scott. 
"  Yes,  Monsieur  le  Cur^,  if  you  will  permit  me  to  say 
so,  you  do  not  know  how  happy  it  makes  me  to 
tind  you  just  what  you  are.  In  the  railway  car- 
riage what  did  I  say  to  you,  Bettina?  And  again 
just  now,  when  we  were  driving  here  ?  " 

"My  sister  .said  to  me,  Monsieur  le  Cur6,  that 
what  she  desired  above  everything  was  a  priest,  not 
young  or  melancholy  or  severe,  l)ut  one  with  white 
hair  and  a  kind  and  gentle  manner.  And  that  is  ex- 
actly what  you  are,  Monsieur  le  Cure,  exactly.  No, 
we  could  not  have  been  more  fortunate.  Excuse  me 
for  speaking  to  you  in  this  manner;  the  Parisians 
know  how  to  make  pretty  phrases,  but  I  do  not,  and 
in  speaking  French  I  should  often  be  quite  at  a  loss 
if  I  did  not  say  everything  in  a  simple  and  childish 
way,  as  it  comes  into  my  head.  In  a  word,  I  am 
satisfied,  quite  satisfied,  and  I  hope  that  you  too. 
Monsieur  le  Cur6,  will  be  satisfied  with  your  new 
parishioners."' 

"  My  parishioners  !  "  exclaimed  the  Cur6,  all  at 
once  recovering  speech,  movement,  life,  everything 
which  for  some  moments  had  completely  abandoned 


42  THE  ABB£    CONSTANTLW 

him.  "My  parishioners!  Pardon  me,  Madame, 
Mademoiselle,  I  am  so  agitated.  Vou  will  be  —  you 
are  Catholic^  ? '" 

"  Certainly  we  are  Catholics." 

"Catholics!  Catholics!"  repeated  the  Cur6. 

"  Catholics  !  Catholics  !  "  echoed  old  Pauline. 

Mrs.  Scott  looked  from  the  Cur6  to  Pauline,  from 
Pauline  to  the  Cure,  nuich  surprised  that  a  single 
word  should  produce  such  an  effect,  and,  to  complete 
the  tableau,  Jean  appeared  carrying  the  two  little 
travelling-bags. 

The  Cur^  and  Pauline  saluted  him  with  tlie  same 
words  — 

"  Catholics  !  Catholics  !  " 

"  Ah  !  i  begin  to  understand,"  .said  Mrs  Scott, 
laughing.  "It  is  our  name,  our  countrv :  nou 
thought  that  we  were  Protestants.  Not  at  all. 
Our  motlier  was  a  Canadian,  French  and  Catholic  by 
descent  ;  that  is  why  my  sister  and  1  both  speak 
Frencli,  with  an  accent,  it  is  true,  and  witli  certain 
American  idioms,  but  yet  in  such  a  manner  as  to  be 
able  to  express  nearly  all  we  want  to  say.  My  hus- 
band is  a  Protestant,  but  he  allows  me  complete  lib- 
erty, and  my  two  children  are  Catholics.  That  is 
why,  Monsieur  I'Abbe,  we  wishi'd  to  come  and  see 
you  the  very  first  day." 

"  Tiiat  is  one  reason,"  continued  liettina,  "  l)ut 
there  is  also  another;  but  for  that  reason  we  shall 
want  our  little  bags." 

"  Mere  they  are,"  .said  Jean. 

While  the  two  little  bags  i)assed  from  tlie  hands 
of  the  officer  to  those  of  Mrs.  Scott  and  Pettina,  the 


THE   ABB&    COArSTAyrnV.  43 

Cure  introduced  Jean  to  the  two  American  ladies, 
but  liis  agitation  was  so  great  tliat  the  introduction 
was  not  made  strictly  according  to  rule.  Tlie  Cure 
only  forgot  one  thing,  it  is  true,  but  that  was  a  thing 
tolerabh'  essential  in  an  introduction, — the  family 
name  of  Jean. 

"This  is  Jean,"  said  he,  ••  my  godson,  lieutenant 
of  artillery,  now  quartered  at  Souvigny.  He  is  one 
of  the  family." 

Jean  made  two  deep  bows,  the  ladies  two  little 
ones,  after  which  they  foraged  in  their  bags,  from 
which  each  drew  a  rouleau  of  1,000  francs,  daintily 
enclosed  in  green  sheaths  of  serpent  skin,  clasped 
with  gold. 

"1  have  brought  you  this  for  your  poor,"  said 
JMrs.  Scott. 

"And  I  have  jjrought  you  this."  said  IJettina. 

"And  besides  that.  Monsieur  le  Cure,  1  am  going 
to  give  \'ou  five  hundred  francs  a  month,"'  said  Mrs. 
Scott. 

"And  I  will  do  lil<e  my  sister."' 

Delicately  tliey  slipped  their  otierings  into  tlie 
right  and  left  hands  of  the  Cure,  who,  lool<ing  at 
each  hand  alternately,  said  : 

"What  are  these  little  things?  They  are  very 
heavy;  there  must  be  money  in  tliem.  Yes,  but 
how  mucii.  how  much?"" 

The  Al)l)e  Constantin  was  seventy-two,  and  nuich 
money  had  passed  through  his  hands,  but  this 
money  had  come  to  him  in  small  sums,  and  the  idea 
of  such  an  oiTering  as  this  had  never  entered  his 
head.      Two   thousand   francs  I     Never  had    he   had 


44  THE  ABB  A    CONSTANTIN. 

two  thousand  francs  in  his  possession  —  no.  not 
even  one  thousand.      He  stammered  : 

"I  am  ver\'  grateful  to  you,  Madame;  you  are 
very  good.  Mademoiselle  — '" 

But  after  all  he  could  not  thank  them  enough,  and 
Jean  thought  it  necessary  to  come  to  his  assistance. 

"  These  ladies  have  just  given  you  two  thousand 
francs  I "" 

And  then,  full  of  warmest  gratitude,  the  Cur6 
cried  : 

"Two  thousand  francs  I  Two  thousand  francs 
for  my  poor  I  "" 

Pauline  suddenly  reappeared. 

"Here,  Pauline,"  said  the  Cure,  "put  away  this 
moncv,  and  take  care  — " 

Old  Pauline  tilled  manv  positions  in  this  simple 
household,  —  cook,  maid-of-all-work,  treasurer,  dis- 
penser. Her  hands  received  with  a  respectful  trem- 
ble these  two  little  rouleaux,  which  represented  so 
much  misery  alleviated,  so  much  sutVering  relieved. 

"  A  thousand  francs  a  month  !  But  there  will  be 
no  poor  left  in  tlie  countrw" 

"That  is  just  what  I  wish.  1  am  rich,  verv  rich, 
and  so  is  my  sister:  she  is  even  richer  than  I  am, 
because  a  young  girl  has  not  so  many  expenses, 
while  I  —  Ah  !  well,  I  spend  all  that  I  can  —  all 
that  I  can.  When  one  has  a  great  deal  of  money, 
too  much,  more  than  one  feels  to  be  just,  tell  me, 
Monsieur  le  Cure,  is  there  any  other  way  of  obtain- 
ing pardon  than  to  keep  one's  hands  o])en,  and  give, 
give,  give,  all  one  can,  and  as  usefully  as  one  can? 
Besides,  you  can  give  me  something  in  return,"  and, 


THE   ABB&    CONSTANTLY.  45 

turning  to  Pauline,  ••  Will  you  l)e  so  kind  as  to  give 
me  a  glass  of  water?  No.  nothing  else,  a  glass  of 
cold  water;    I  am  dying  of  thirst." 

"And  I,"  .said  Bettina,  laughing,  while  Pauline 
ran  to  fetch  the  water.  "  I  am  dying  of  something 
else  —  of  hunger,  to  tell  the  truth.  Monsieur  le 
Cure,  —  I  know  that  1  am  going  to  be  dreadfully 
intrusive;  I  .see  your  cloth  is  laid,  —  could  you  not 
invite  us  to  dinner? "" 

"  Bettina  ! "'  said  Mrs.  .Scott. 

"  Let  me  alone,  Suzie,  let  me  alone.  Won't  you. 
Monsieur  le  Cure?     I  am  sure  you  will."' 

But  he  could  tind  no  reply.  Tlu  old  Cure  hardly 
knew  where  he  was.  They  had  taken  his  vicarage 
by  storm  :  they  were  Catholics  ;  they  had  promised 
him  a  thousand  francs  a  month,  and  now  they  wanted 
to  dine  with  him.  Ah !  that  was  the  last  stroke. 
Terror  seized  him  at  the  thought  of  having  to  do  the 
honors  of  his  leg  of  mutton  and  custard  to  these 
two  absurdly  rich  Americans.      He  murmured  : 

"  Dine  I  —  you  would  like  to  dine  here? "" 

Jean  thought  he  must  interpose  again.  ••  It 
would  be  a  great  pl';asure  to  my  godfather,"  said  he, 
"  if  you  would  kindly  stay.  But  I  know  what  dis- 
turbs him.  We  were  going  to  dine  together,  just 
the  two  of  us,  and  you  must  not  expect  a  feast. 
You  will  be  very  indulgent  ?  " 

"Yes,  yes,  very  indulgent,"  replied  Bettina:  then, 
addressing  her  sister,  "Come,  Suzie,  you  must  not 
be  cross,  because  I  have  been  a  little  —  you  know  it 
is  my  way  to  be  a  little  —  Let  us  stay,  will  you  ? 
It  will  do  us  good  to  jjass  a  quiet  hour  here,  aftei 


46  THE  ABB&    CONSTANTIN. 

such  a  dav  as  \vc  have  had  I  On  the  railway,  in  tlie 
carriage,  in  the  heat,  in  the  dust;  we  had  such  a 
horrid  lunclieon,  in  such  a  horrid  liotel.  We  were 
to  have  returned  to  the  same  hotel  at  seven  o'clock 
to  dine,  and  then  take  the  train  back  to  Paris,  but 
dinner  here  will  be  really  much  nicer.  You  won't  say 
no?     Ah  I  how  good  you  are,  Suzie  I "" 

She  embraced  her  sister  fondly ;  then  turning 
towards  the  Cure  — 

"  If  you  onlv  knew,  Monsieur  le  Cure,  how  good 
she  is  ! " 

"  Bettina!   Bettina  !  " 

"Come,"'  said  Jean,  "quick.  Pauline,  two  more 
plates;  I  will  help  you." 

"  And  so  will  I,"  said  Bettina;  ■•  I  will  help  too. 
Oh  I  do  let  me;  it  will  I^e  so  anuising.  Monsieur  le 
Cure,  vou  will  let  me  do  a  little  as  if  I  were  at 
home  ?  " 

In  a  moment  she  had  taken  off  her  mantle,  and 
Jean  could  admire,  in  all  its  excjuisite  perfection,  a 
ligure  marvellous  for  suppleness  and  grace.  Mi.ss 
Percival  then  removed  her  hat.  but  with  a  little  too 
much  haste,  for  this  was  the  signal  for  a  charming 
catastrophe.  .\  whole  avalanche  descended  in  tor- 
rents, in  long  cascades,  over  Bettina's  shoulders. 
She  was  standing  before  a  window  flooded  by  the 
rays  of  the  sun,  and  this  golden  light,  falling  full  on 
this  golden  hair,  formed  a  delicious  frame  for  the 
sparkling  beauty  of  the  young  girl.  Confused  and 
blushing,  Bettina  was  obliged  to  call  her  sister  to  her 
aid,  and  Mrs.  Scott  had  much  trouble  in  introducing 
order  into  this  disorder. 


MKb.     bCOi  I    AKKAXl.l.NG    LiliiriX-V's.     llAlK.        (Opp.  pUgC:  40.) 


THE  ABBA    CONSTANTFN.  47 

When  this  disaster  was  at  length  repaired,  nothing 
could  prevent  I^ettina  from  rushing  on  plants,  knives, 
and  forks. 

"Oh!  indeed,"' said  she  to  Jean,  "I  know  very 
well  how  to  lay  the  cloth.  Ask  mv  sister.  Tell 
him,  Su/.ie,  when  I  was  a  little  girl  in  New  York,  I 
used  to  lay  the  cloth  very  well,  didn't  I  ? '" 

"  Very  well  indeed,"  said  Mrs.  Scott. 

And  then,  while  begging  the  Cure  to  excuse  Bet- 
tina's  want  of  thought,  she,  too,  took  off  her  hat  and 
mantle,  so  that  Jean  had  again  the  very  agreeable 
spectacle  of  a  charming  figure  and  beautiful  hair ; 
but,  to  Jean's  great  regret,  the  catastrophe  had  not  a 
second  representation. 

In  a  few  minutes,  Mrs.  Scott,  Miss  Percival,  the 
Cur6,  and  Jean  were  seated  round  the  little  vicarage 
table  ;  then,  thanks  partly  to  the  impromptu  and  ori- 
ginal nature  of  the  entertainment,  partly  to  Bettina's 
good-humor  and  perhaps  slightly  audacious  gayety, 
the  conversation  took  a  turn  of  the  frankest  and 
most  cordial  familiarity. 

"Now,  Monsieur  le  Cure,"  said  Biittina,  "you 
shall  see  if  I  did  not  speak  the  truth  when  I  said  I 
was  dying  of  hunger.  I  never  was  so  glad  to  sit 
down  to  dinner.  This  is  such  a  delightful  finish  to 
our  day.  Both  mv  sister  and  I  are  perfectly  happy 
now  we  have  this  castle  and  these  farms  and  the 
forest." 

"  .Vnd  then."  said  .Mrs.  Scott,  "  to  have  ail  tliat  in 
such  an  extraordinary  and  unexpected  manner  I  We 
were  so  taken  by  surprise." 

"  You  may  indeed  sav  so,  Suzie.      You  must  know, 


48  THE  ABB  A    CONSTANTTM. 

Monsieur  rAbb(§,  that  yesterday  was  my  sister's 
birthday.  But  first,  pardon  me,  Monsieur  —  Jean, 
is  it  not? "' 

"Yes,  Miss  Percival,  ]\ronsieur  Jean." 

"  Well,  Monsieur  Jean,  a  little  more  of  that  ex- 
cellent soup,  if  you  please."' 

The  Al^be  was  beginning  to  recover  a  little,  but  he 
was  still  too  agitated  to  perform  the  duties  of  a  host. 
It  was  Jean  who  had  undertaken  the  management  of 
his  godfather's  little  dinner.  He  tilled  the  plate  of 
the  charming  American  girl,  who  fixed  upon  him  the 
glance  of  two  large  eyes,  in  which  sparkled  frankness, 
daring,  and  gayety.  Jean"s  eyes,  meanwhile,  repaid 
Miss  Percival  in  the  same  coin.  It  was  scarcely 
three-quarters  of  an  hour  since  the  young  American 
lady  and  the  young  ofticer  had  made  acquaintance 
in  the  Cure's  garden,  yet  both  felt  already  perfectly 
at  ease  with  each  other,  full  of  confidence,  almost 
like  old  friends. 

"  1  told  you.  Monsieur  I'Abbci,"  continued  Bet- 
tiiia,  "that  yesterday  was  my  sister's  birthday.  A 
week  ago  my  JKothcr-in-law  was  obliged  to  return  to 
America,  but  at  starting  he  said  to  mv  sister.  •  I 
shall  not  be  with  you  on  \our  birthdaw  but  \'ou  will 
hear  from  me.'  So  yesterday  presents  and  bouquets 
arrived  from  all  quarters,  but  from  my  brother-in- 
law,  up  to  five  o'clock,  nothing — nothing.  We 
were  just  starting  for  a  ride  in  the  Bois,  and  a propos 
of  riding"  —  she  stopped,  and  looking  curiously  at 
Jean's  great  dusty  boots  —  "Monsieur  Jean,  you 
have  spurs  on." 

"  Yes,  Miss  Percival." 


THE  ABB£    CONSTANTIN.  49 

"  Then  you  are  in  the  cavalry? "' 

"  I  am  in  the  artillery,  and  that,  you  know,  is 
cavalry." 

"  And  your  regiment  is  quartered  — "' 

"  Quite  near  here." 

"  Tlien  you  will  be  able  to  ride  with  us?" 

"With  the  greatest  pleasure." 

"  Tliat  is  settled.     Let  me  see  ;  where  was  I?" 

"You  do  not  know  at  all  where  you  are,  Bettina, 
and  you  are  telling  these  gentlemen  things  which 
cannot  interest  them." 

"  Oh  I  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  the  Cure.  "  The 
sale  of  this  estate  is  the  only  subject  of  conversation 
in  the  neighl:)orhood  just  now,  and  Miss  Percival's 
account   interests  me  very  much." 

"You  see,  Suzie,  my  story  interests  Monsieur 
le  Cure  very  much  ;  then  I  shall  continue.  We 
went  for  our  ride,  we  returned  at  seven  o'clock  — 
nothing.  We  dined,  and  just  when  we  were  leaving 
the  table  a  telegram  from  .America  arrived.  It  con- 
tained only  a  few  lines  : 

"  '  I  have  ordered  the  purchase  to-day,  for  you 
and  in  your  name,  of  the  castle  and  lands  of 
Longueval,  near  .Souvigny,  on  tlie  northern  railway 
line." 

"  Tlien  we  Ijolli  burst  into  a  wild  tit  of  laughter  at 
the  thought." 

"No,  no,  liettina;  you  calumniate  us  botii.  Our 
first  thought  was  one  of  very  sincere  gratitude,  for 
both  my  sister  and  I  are  very  fond  of  the  country. 
My  husljand  knows  that  we  had  longed  to  have  an 
estate    in    France.      For    si.\    months    he    had    been 


5©  THE  ABB  A    CONSTANTTN. 

looking  out,  and  found  nothing.  At  last  he  dis- 
covered this  one,  and  without  telling  us  ordered  it 
to  be  bought  for  my  Ijirthdav.  It  was  a  delicate 
attention." 

'•Yes,  Suzie,  you  are  right,  but  after  tlie  little  fit 
of  gratitude  we  had  a  great  one  of  gayety." 

"Yes,  I  confe.ss  it.  When  we  realized  that  we 
had  suddenly  become  possessed  of  a  castle,  witliout 
knowing  in  the  least  where  it  was.  what  it  was  like, 
or  how  much  it  had  cost,  it  seemed  so  like  a  fairy 
tale.  Well,  for  five  good  minutes  we  laughed  with 
all  our  hearts,  then  we  seized  the  map  of  France, 
and  succeeded  in  discovering  Souvigny.  Wiien  we 
had  finished  with  the  map.  it  was  tlie  turn  of  the 
railway  guide,  and  this  morning,  by  the  ten  o'clock 
express,  we  arrived  at  Souvigny.  '•  We  have  passed 
the  whole  day  in  visiting  the  castle,  the  woods,  the 
stables.  We  are  delighted  with  what  we  have  seen. 
Only,  Monsieur  le  Cur6,  there  is  one  thing  about 
which  I  feel  curious.  I  know  that  the  place  was  sold 
yesterday  by  auction ;  I  saw  the  placards  all  along ; 
I)ut  I  have  not  dared  to  ask  either  agent  or  farmer 
who  accompanied  me  in  my  walk  —  for  my  ignorance 
would  have  seemed  too  absurd  —  I  have  not  dared  to 
ask  how  much  it  cost.  In  the  telegram  my  husband 
does  not  mention  the  sum.  Since  I  am  so  delighted 
with  the  place,  the  price  is  only  a  detail,  but  still  I 
should  like  to  know  it.  Tell  me.  Monsieur  le  Cur6, 
do  you  know  what  it  cost  ? " 

"An  enormous  price,"'  replied  the  Cur^,  "for 
many  hopes  and  many  ambitions  were  e.xcited  about 
Lonsueval." 


THE  ABB  A    CONSTANT  IN.  51 

"An  enormous  price!  You  frighten  me.  How 
much  exactly? " 

"  Three  millions  !  " 

-Is  that  all?  Is  that  all?"  cried  Mrs.  Scott. 
'•The  castle,  the  farms,  the  forest,  all  for  three 
millions." 

"But  that  is  nothing."  said  Bettina.  "That 
delicious  little  stream  which  wanders  tlirough  the 
park  is  alone  worth  three  millions." 

"And  you  said  just  now,  Monsieur  le  Cure,  that 
there  were  several  persons  who  were  our  rivals  at 
the  sale  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Mrs.  Scott." 

"  And,  after  the  sale,  was  my  name  mentioned 
among  these  persons  ?  " 

"  Certainly  it  was." 

"And  when  my  name  was  mentioned  was  there 
no  one  there  who  spoke  of  me?  Yes,  yes,  your 
silence  is  a  sufficient  answer;  they  did  speak  of  me. 
Well,  Monsieur  le  Cure,  1  am  now  serious,  very 
serious.  I  beg  you  as  a  favor  to  tell  me  what  was 
said." 

"  But,"  replied  the  poor  Cur6,  who  felt  himself 
upon  burning  coals,  "  they  spoke  of  your  large 
fortune." 

"  Yes,  of  course,  they  would  be  obliged  to  speak 
of  that,  and  no  doubt  they  said  tiiat  1  was  very  rich, 
but  had  not  been  rich  long — that  I  was  a  parvenuc. 
Very  well,  but  that  is  not  all ;  they  must  have  said 
something  else." 

"  No,  indeed;   1  have  heard  nothing  else." 

"Oh!  Monsieur   le   Cure,    that   is    what  you  may 


52  THE  ABB&    CONSTANTTN. 

call  a  white  lie,  and  1  am  making  you  very  unhap]3y, 
because  naturally  you  are  the  soul  of  truth,  but  if  I 
torment  you  thus  it  is  because  I  have  the  greatest 
interest  in  knowing  what  was  said." 

"You  are  right,"'  interrupted  Jean,  "you  are 
right.  They  said  you  were  one  of  the  most  elegant, 
the  most  brilliant,  and  the  — "' 

"  And  one  of  the  prettiest  women  in  Paris.  With 
a  little  indulgence  they  might  say  that ;  but  that  is 
not  all  yet  —  there  is  something  else." 

"  Oh!  I  assure  you  —  " 

"Yes,  there  is  something  else,  and  I  should  like 
to  hear  it  this  very  moment,  and  1  should  like  the 
infor)riation  to  be  very  frank  and  very  exact.  It 
seems  to  me  that  I  am  in  a  lucky  vein  to-day,  and  I 
feel  as  if  you  were  both  a  little  inclined  to  be  my 
friends,  and  that  you  will  be  so  entirely  some  day. 
Well,  tell  me  if  I  am  right  in  supposing  that  should 
false  and  absurd  stories  be  told  about  me,  you  will 
help  me  to  contradict   tlicin  ?  " 

"  Yes  !  "  replied  Jean,  with  great  eagerness,  "  you 
are  right  in  believing  that."' 

"Well,  then,  it  is  to  you  that  I  address  myself. 
You  are  a  soldier,  and  courage  is  part  of  your  pro- 
fession. Promise  mc  to  be  brave.  Will  you  promise 
me  ? '" 

"  What  do  you  understand  l)y  being  brave?" 

"Promise,  promise  —  without  explanations,  witli- 
out  conditions." 

"  Well,  1  promise." 

"  You  will  then  reply  frankly,  'Yes'  or  'No,'  to 
my  questions  ?  " 


THE  ABB&    CONSTANT/N.  53 

"I  will." 

"  Did  they  say  that  I  had  begged  in  the  streets  of 
New  York  ?  " 

"  Yes,  they  said  so." 

"  Did  they  say  I  had  been  a  rider  in  a  travelling 
circus  ?  " 

"  Yes,  they  said  that  too." 

"  Very  well;  that  is  plain  speaking.  Now  remark 
first  that  in  all  this  there  is  nothing  that  one  might 
not  acknowledge  if  it  were  true ;  but  it  is  not  true, 
and  have  I  not  the  right  of  denying  it?  My  history 
—  I  will  tell  it  you  in  a  few  words.  I  am  going  to 
pass  a  part  of  my  life  in  this  place,  and  I  desire  that 
all  should  know  who  I  am  and  whence  I  come.  To 
begin  then.  Poor!  Yes,  I  liave  been,  and  very 
poor.  Eight  years  ago  my  father  died,  and  was 
soon  followed  by  my  mother.  I  was  then  eighteen, 
and  Bettina  nine.  We  were  alone  in  the  world, 
encumbered  with  heavy  debts  and  a  great  lawsuit. 
My  father's  last  words  had  been,  •  Suzie,  never, 
never  compromise.  Millions,  my  children,  you  will 
have  millions."  He  kissed  us  both;  soon  delirium 
seized  him,  and  he  died  repeating,  '  Millions !  mil- 
lions !  "  The  next  morning  a  lawyer  appeared,  who 
offered  to  pay  all  our  debts,  and  to  give  us  besides  ten 
thousand  dollars,  if  we  would  give  up  all  our  claims. 
I  refused.  It  was  then  that  for  several  months  we 
were  very  poor. 

"And  it  was  then,"  said  Hettina,  "  tliat  I  used  to 
lay  the  cloth." 

"  I  spent  my  life  among  the  solicitors  of  New 
York,   but   no  one  would  take  up  my  case ;  every- 


54  THE   ABB&    CONSTANTIN. 

where  I  received  the  same  reply,  '  Your  case  is 
very  doubtful ;  you  have  rich  and  formidable  adver- 
saries ;  you  need  money,  large  sums  of  money,  to 
bring  such  a  case  to  a  conclusion,  and  you  have 
nothing.  They  offer  to  pay  your  debts,  and  to  give 
you  ten  thousand  dollars  besides.  Accept  it,  and 
sell  your  case.'  But  my  father's  last  words  rang  in 
my  ears,  and  I  would  not.  Poverty,  however,  might 
soon  have  forced  me  to,  when  one  day  I  made 
another  appeal  to  one  of  my  father's  old  friends,  a 
banker  in  New  York,  Mr.  William  Scott.  He  was 
not  alone  ;  a  young  man  was  sitting  in  his  office. 

"'You  may  speak  freely,'  said  Air.  Scott;  '  it  is 
my  son  Richard.' 

"  1  looked  at  the  young  man,  lie  looked  at  me,  and 
we  recognized  each  other. 

"  '  Suzie  ! ' 

"  '  Richard  !  ' 

"  Formerly,  as  children,  we  had  often  played  to- 
gether and  were  great  friends.  Se\'en  or  eight  years 
before  this  meeting  lie  had  been  sent  to  Europe  to 
finish  liis  education.  We  sliook  hands  ;  liis  father 
made  me  sit  down,  and  asked  what  my  errand  was. 
He  listened  to  my  tale,  and  replied  : 

"  '  You  would  require  twenty  or  thirty  thousand 
dollars.  No  one  would  lend  you  such  a  sum  upon 
the  uncertain  chances  of  a  very  complicated  lawsuit. 
If  you  are  in  difficulties;  if  you  need  assistance  — ' 

"  '  It  is  not  that,  father,'  said  Richard,  eagerly. 
'That  is  not  what  Miss  Percival  asks.' 

*'  '  I  know  that  very  well,  but  what  she  asks  is  im- 
possible.' 


THE  ABR&    CONSTANTTN.  '^'^ 

"  He  rose  to  let  me  out.  Tlien  the  sense  of  my 
helplessness  overpowered  me  for  the  first  time  since 
my  father's  death.  I  burst  into  a  violent  flood  of 
tears.    An  hour  later  Richard  Scott  was  at  my  house. 

"  '  Suzie,'  he  said,  '  promise  to  accept  what  I  am 
going  to  offer." 

"  I  promised  him. 

"  '  Well,'  said  he,  '  on  the  single  condition  that 
my  father  shall  know  nothing  about  it,  I  place  at  your 
disposal  the  necessary  sum.'' 

"  '  But  then  you  ought  to  know  what  the  lawsuit 
is  —  what  it  is  worth.' 

"  '  I  do  not  know  a  single  word  about  it,  and  I  do 
not  wish  to.  Besides,  you  have  promised  to  accept 
it;  you  cannot  withdraw  now.' 

"  He  offered  it  to  me  with  such  frankness  that  I 
accepted.  Three  months  later  the  case  was  ours.  All 
this  vast  property  became  beyond  dispute  the  prop- 
erty of  Bettina  and  me.  The  other  side  offered  to 
buy  it  of  us  for  five   millions.      1   con.sulted  Richard. 

"  '  Refuse  it  and  wait,'  said  he  ;  '  if  they  offer  you 
such  a  sum  it  is  because  the  property  is  worth  double.' 

"'However,  I  must  return  you  your  money;  I 
owe  you  a  great  deal.' 

"  'Oh!  as  for  that  there  is  no  hurry;  I  am  very 
easy  about  it;  my  money  is  quite  safe  now.' 

"  '  But  I  should  like  to  pay  you  at  once.  I  have 
a  horror  of  debt !  Perhaps  there  is  another  way 
witliout  selling  the  property.  Richard,  will  you  be 
my  husband  ? ' 

"  Yes,  Monsieur  le  Cure,  —  yes,"  said  Mrs.  Scott, 
laughing,  "  it  is  thus  that  I  threw  myself  at  ni)-  hus- 


56  THE  ABB&    CONSTANTIN. 

band's  head.  I  asked  his  hand.  But  really  I  was 
obliged  to  act  thus.  Never,  never  would  he  have 
spoken :  I  had  become  too  rich,  and  as  he  loved 
me,  and  not  my  money,  he  was  becoming  ter- 
ribly afraid  of  me.  That  is  the  history  of  my  mar- 
riage. As  to  the  history  of  my  fortune,  it  can  be 
told  in  a  few  words.  There  were  indeed  millions  in 
those  wide  lands  of  Colorado :  the}'  discovered  there 
abundant  mines  of  silver,  and  from  those  mines  we 
draw  every  year  an  income  which  is  beyond  reason, 
but  we  have  agreed  —  my  husband,  my  sister,  and 
myself —  to  give  a  very  large  share  of  this  income  to 
the  poor.  You  see.  Monsieur  le  Cur6,  it  is  because 
we  have  known  very  hard  times  that  you  will  always 
find  us  ready  to  Iielp  those  who  are,  as  we  have  been 
ourselves,  involved  in  the  difficulties  and  sorrows  of 
life.  And  now,  Monsieur  Jean,  will  you  forgive  me 
this  long  discourse,  and  offer  me  a  little  of  that  cream, 
which  looks  so  very  good  ? " 

This  cream  was  Pauline's  custard,  and  while  Jean 
was  serving  Mrs.  Scott  — 

"  I  have  not  yet  finished,'"  slie  continued.  •'  You 
must  know  what  gave  rise  to  tlicse  extravagant 
stories.  A  year  ago,  when  we  settled  in  Paris,  we 
considered  it  our  duty  on  our  arrival  to  give  a  certain 
sum  to  the  poor.  Who  was  it  spoke  of  that?  None 
of  us,  certainly,  but  the  thing  was  told  in  a  news- 
paper, with  the  amount.  Immediately  two  young 
reporters  liastened  to  subject  .Mr.  Scott  to  a  little 
examination  on  his  past  history ;  they  wished  to  give 
a  sketch  of  our  career  in  the  —  what  do  you  call 
them? — society  papers.      Mr.   Scott  is  sometimes  a 


THE  ABB  A    CONSTANTIN.  S7 

little  hasty  ;  he  was  so  on  this  occasion,  and  dismissed 
these  gentlemen  rather  Ijrusquely  without  telling 
them  anything.  So,  as  tliey  did  not  know  our  real 
history,  they  invented  one,  and  certainly  displayed  a 
very  lively  imagination.  One  of  them  related  how  I 
had  begged  in  the  snow  in  New  York ;  the  next  day 
appeared  a  still  more  sensational  article,  which  made 
me  a  rider  in  a  circus  in  Philadelphia.  You  have 
some  very  funny  papers  in  France  ;  so  have  we  in 
America,  for  the  matter  of  that."' 

During  the  last  five  minutes  Pauline  had  been 
making  desperate  signs  to  the  Cur6,  who  persisted 
in  not  understanding  them,  till  at  last  the  poor 
woman,  calling  up  all  her  courage,   said  : 

"  Monsieur  le  Cur6,  it  is  a  quarter-past  seven." 

"A  quarter-pa.st  seven!  Ladies,  I  must  beg  you 
to  excuse  me.  This  evening  I  have  the  special 
service  for  the  month  of  Mary." 

"  The  month  of  Mary?  And  will  the  service  be- 
gin directly?" 

"Yes,   directly." 

"  And  when  does  our  train  start  for  Paris?" 

"At  half-past  nine,"  replied  Jean. 

"  Suzie,   can  we  not  go  to  church  first?" 

"  Yes,  we  will  go,"  replied  Mrs.  Scott;  "  but  be- 
fore we  separate.  Monsieur  le  Cure,  I  have  one  favor 
to  ask  you.  1  sliould  like  very  much,  the  first  time 
I  dine  at  Longueval,  that  you  would  dine  witli  me, 
and  you  too.  Monsieur  Jean,  just  us  four  alone  as 
to-day.  Oil !  do  not  refuse  my  invitation  ;  it  is  given 
with  all  my  heart." 

"  And  accepted  as  heartily,"  replied  Jean. 


58  THE  abb£  constantin. 

"  I  will  write  and  tell  you  the  day,  and  it  shall  be 
as  soon  as  possible.  You  call  that  having  a  house- 
warming,  don't  you?  Well,  we  will  have  the  house- 
warning  all  to  ourselves."' 

Meanwhile  Pauline  had  drawn  Miss  Perci\al  into 
a  corner  of  the  room,  and  was  talking  to  her  with 
great  animation.  The  conversation  ended  with  these 
words  : 

"  You  will  be  there?"  said  Bettina,  '-and  you  will 
tell   me  the  exact  moment?" 

"  I  will  tell  you,  but  take  care.  Here  is  Monsieur 
le  Cure;   he  must  not  suspect  anything." 

The  two  sisters,  the  Cur6,  and  Jean  left  the  house. 
To  go  to  the  church  they  were  obliged  to  cross  the 
churchyard.  The  evening  was  delicious.  Slowly, 
silently,  under  the  rays  of  the  setting  sun  the  four 
walked  down  a  long  avenue. 

On  their  way  was  the  monument  to  Dr.  Reynaud, 
very  simple,  but  which  yet,  by  its  proportions,  showed 
distinctly  among  the  other  tombs. 

"  Mrs.  Scott  and  Bettina  stopped,  struck  with  this 
inscription  carved  on  the  stone  : 

"  Here  lies  Dr.  Marcel  Reynaud,  Surgeon-Major  of 
the  Souvigny  Reserves;  killed  January  8,  1871,  at 
the  battle  of  Villersexel.      Pray  for  him." 

When  they  had  read  it,  the  Cur6,  pointing  to 
Jean,  said  these  simple  words  : 

"  It  was  his  father  !  '' 

The  two  sisters  drew  near  tiie  tomb,  and  with  bent 
heads  remained  there  for  some  minutes,  pensive, 
touched,  contemplative.  Then  both  turned,  and  at 
the  same  moment,  by  the  same  impulse,  offered  their 


In  the  Ckmetery.     (Opposite  page  5S.) 


THE  ABB&    CONSTANTIN.  59 

hands  to  the  young  officer ;  then  continued  their 
walk  to  the  church.  Their  first  prayer  at  Longueval 
had  been  for  Jean's  father. 

The  CuriJ  went  to  put  on  his  surphce  and  stole. 
Jean  conducted  Mrs.  Scott  to  the  seat  which  belonged 
to  the  masters  of  Longueval. 

Pauline  had  gone  on  before.  She  was  waiting  for 
Miss  Percival  in  the  shadow  behind  one  of  the  pillars. 
By  a  steep  and  narrow  staircase  slie  led  Ikctina  to 
the  gallery,  and  placed  her  before  the  harmonium. 


Preceded  by  two  little  chorister  boys,  the  old  Cur6 
left  the  vestry,  and  at  the  moment  when  he  knelt  on 
the  steps  of  the  altar  — 

"  Now  !  mademoiselle,"'  said  Pauline,  whose  heart 
beat  with  impatience.  "  Poor,  dear  man,  liow  pleased 
he  will  be  !  " 

When   he  heard  the  sound  of  tlie   music  rise,  soft 


6o  THE   ABB&    CONST. INTTN. 

as  a  murmur,  and  s^sread  through  the  little  churcli, 
the  Abb6  Constantin  was  filled  with  such  emotion, 
such  joy,  that  the  tears  came  to  his  e\'es.  He  could 
not  remember  having  wept  since  the  day  when  Jean 
had  said  that  he  wished  to  share  all  that  he  possessed 
with  the  mother  and  sister  of  those  who  had  fallen 
by  his  father's  side  under  the  Prussian  bullets. 

To  bring  tears  to  the  eyes  of  tlie  old  priest  a  young 
American  girl  had  been  brought  across  the  seas  to 
play  a  revery  of  Chopin  in  the  little  church  of 
Longueval. 


tmS 


CHAPTER    IV. 


Thk  next  day,  at  half-past  live  in  the  morning,  the 
bugle-call  rang  through  the  barrack-yard  at  Souvigny. 
Jean  mounted  his  horse,  and  took  his  place  with  his 
division.  By  the  end  of  May  all  the  recruits  in  the 
army  are  sufficiently  instructed  to  be  capable  of  shar- 
ing in  the  general  evolutions.  Almost  every  day 
manoeuvres  of  the  mounted  artillery  are  executed  on 
the  parade  ground.  Jean  loved  his  profession  ;  he 
was  in  the  habit  of  inspecting  carefully  the  grooming 
and  harness  of  the  horses,  the  ecjuipment  and  car- 
riage of  his  men.  This  morning,  however,  he  be- 
stowed I)ut  scant  attention  on  all  the  little  details 
of  his  duty. 

One  problem  agitated,  tormented  him,  and  left 
him  always  undecided,  and  this  ])roblem  was  one  of 
those  the  solution  of  which  is  not  siiven  at  the  Ecole 


62  THE   ABB  A    CONSTANTIN. 

Polyteclinique.  Jean  could  find  no  convincing  reply 
to  this  question,  "  Wliich  of  tlie  two  sisters  is  tlie 
prettier? '' 

At  the  butts,  during  the  first  part  of  the  n-'anoeuvre, 
each  battery  worked  on  its  o\\n  account,  under  tlie 
orders  of  the  captain;  l)ut  he  often  reHncjuished  tlie 
place  to  one  of  his  lieutenants,  in  order  to  accustom 
them  to  the  management  of  the  six  field-pieces.  It 
happened  on  this  day  that  the  command  was  intmsted 
to  the  hands  of  Jean.  To  the  great  surprise  of  the 
captain,  in  whose  estimation  his  lieutenant  held  the 
first  rank  as  a  well-trained,  smart,  and  capable  officer, 
everything  went  wrong.  The  captain  was  obliged  to 
interfere;  he  addressed  a  little  reprimand  to  Jean, 
which  terminated  in  these  words : 

"  I  cannot  understand  it  at  all.  What  is  the  mat- 
ter with  you  this  morning?  It  is  the  first  time  such 
a  thing  has  happened  with  you." 

It  was  also  the  first  time  that  Jean  had  seen  any- 
thing at  the  ]:)utts  at  Souvigny  but  cannon,  ammuni- 
tion-wagons, horses,  or  gunners. 

In  the  clouds  of  dust  raised  by  the  wheels  of  the 
wagons  and  the  hoofs  of  tlie  liorses  Jean  beheld,  not 
the  second  mounted  l)attcry  of  the  ninth  regiment 
of  artillery,  l)ut  the  distinct  images  of  two  American 
women  with  black  eyes  and  golden  hair ;  and,  at  the 
moment  when  he  listened  respectfully  to  the  well- 
merited  lecture  from  his  captain,  he  was  in  tlie  act 
of  saying  to  himself: 

"  The  prettier  is  Mrs.  Scott  I " 

Every  morning  the  exercise  is  divided  into  two 
parts  by  a  little  interval  often  minutes.     Tiie  officers 


THE  ABB&    COiVSTANTIN.  63 

gathered  together  and  talked;  Jean  remained  apart, 
alone  with  his  recollections  of  the  previous  evening. 
His  thoughts  obstinately  gathered  round  the  vicarage 
of  Longueval. 

"  Yes  !  the  more  charming  of  the  two  sisters  was 
Mrs.  Scott :   Miss  Percival  was  only  a  child."' 

He  again  saw  Mrs.  Scott  at  the  Curb's  little  table. 
He  heard  her  story  told  with  sucli  frankness,  such 
freedom.  The  harmony  of  that  very  peculiar,  very 
fascinating  voice,  still  enchanted  his  ear.  He  was 
again  in  the  church  ;  she  was  there  before  him,  bend- 
ing over  her  prie-Dieu,  her  pretty  head  resting  in  her 
two  little  hands ;  then  the  music  arose,  and  far  off, 
in  the  dusk,  Jean  perceived  Bettina's  fine  and  deli- 
cate profile. 

' '  A  child  —  was  she  only  a  child  ? "' 

The  trumpets  sounded,  the  practice  recommenced  ; 
this  time,  fortunately,  no  command,  no  responsi- 
bility. The  four  batteries  executed  their  evolutions 
together :  this  immense  mass  of  men,  horses,  and 
carriages,  deployed  in  every  direction,  now  drawn 
out  in  a  long  line,  again  collected  into  a  compact 
group.  All  stopped  at  the  same  instant  along  the 
whole  extent  of  the  ground ;  tlie  gunners  sprang 
from  their  horses,  ran  to  their  pieces,  detached  each 
from  its  team,  which,  went  off  at  a  trot,  and  prepared 
lo  fire  witli  amazing  rapidity.  Then  the  horses 
returned,  the  men  re-attached  their  pieces,  sprang 
quickly  to  saddle,  and  the  regiment  started  at  full 
gallop  across  the  field. 

Very  gently  in  the  thoughts  of  Jean,  Bettina  re- 
gained her  advantage  over  Mrs.  Scott.      She  appeared 


64  THE  ABB  A    CONSTANTIN. 

to  him  smiling  and  blushing  amid  the  sun-lit  clouds 
of  her  floating  hair.  Monsieur  Jean,  she  had  called 
him  —  Monsieur  Jean;  and  never  had  his  name 
sounded  so  sweet.  And  that  last  pressure  of  the 
hand  on  taking  leave,  before  entering  the  carriage. 
Had  not  Miss  Percival  given  him  a  more  cordial 
clasp  than  Mrs.  Scott  had  done?  Yes,  positi\-ely  a 
little  more. 

"I  was  mistaken,"  thought  Jean;  "the  prettier 
is  Miss  Percival."' 

The  day's  work  was  finished ;  the  pieces  were 
ranged  regularly  in  line  one  behind  the  other ;  they 
defiled  rapidly,  with  a  horrible  clatter  and  in  a  cloud 
of  dust.  When  Jean,  sword  in  hand,  passed  before 
his  colonel,  the  images  of  the  two  sisters  were  so 
confused  and  intermingled  in  his  recollection  that 
they  melted  the  one  in  the  otiier,  and  became  in 
some  measure  the  image  of  one  and  the  same  person. 
Any  parallel  became  impossible  between  them, 
thanks  to  tliis  singular  confusion  of  the  two  points 
of  comparison.  Mrs.  Scott  and  Miss  Percival  re- 
mained tluis  inseparable  in  the  thoughts  of  Jean  until 
the  day  when  it  was  granted  to  him  to  see  them 
again.  The  impression  of  tliat  meeting  was  not 
effaced ;  it  was  always  there,  persistent,  and  very 
sweet,  till  Jean  began  to  feel  disturbed. 

"  Is  it  possiI)le  "  —  so  ran  his  meditations  —  "  is 
it  po.ssible  that  1  have  been  guilty  of  the  folly  of  fall- 
ing in  love  madly  at  first  sight?  No;  one  might  fall 
in  love  with  a  woman,  but  not  with  two  women  at 
once."' 

That  thouglit  reassured  him.      He  was  very  young. 


THE   ABB  A    CONSTANTIN.  65 

this  great  fellow  of  four-and-twenty ;  never  had  love 
entered  fully  into  his  heart.  Love  !  He  knew  very 
little  about  it,  except  from  books,  and  he  had  read 
but  few  of  them.  Hut  he  was  no  angel;  he  could 
find  plenty  of  attractions  in  the  "  grisettes "  of 
Souvigny,  and  when  tliey  would  allow  him  to  tell 
them  that  tliey  were  charming  he  was  cjuite  ready  to 
do  so,  i)ut  it  had  never  entered  his  head  to  regard  as 
love  those  passing  fancies,  which  only  caused  the 
slightest  and  most  superficial  disturbance  in  his 
heart. 

Paul  de  Lavardens  iiad  marvellous  powers  of  en- 
tluisiasm  and  idealization.  His  lieart  sheltered 
alwavs  two  or  three  "  grandes  passions,"'  which  lived 
there  in  perfect  harmony.  Paul  had  been  so  clever 
as  to  discover,  in  this  little  town  of  fifteen  thousand 
souls,  numbers  of  pretty  girls,  all  made  to  be  adored. 
He  always  believed  himself  the  discoverer  of  Amer- 
ica, when,  in  fact,  he  had  done  nothing  but  follow  in 
tile  track  of  other  navigators. 

Tlie  world  —  Jean  had  scarcely  encountered  it. 
He  had  allowed  himself  to  be  dragged  by  Paul,  a 
dozen  times,  perhaps,  to  soirees  or  balls  at  the  great 
houses  of  the  neighborhood.  He  had  invariably 
returned  thoroughly  bored,  and  had  concluded  that 
these  pleasures  were  not  made  for  him.  His  tastes 
were  simple,  serious.  He  loved  solitude,  work,  long 
walks,  open  spaces,  horses,  and  books.  He  was  a 
son  of  Nature  —  somewhat  of  a  peasant.  He  loved  his 
village,  and  all  the  old  friends  of  his  childhood.  A 
quadrille  in  a  drawing-room  caused  him  unspeakable 
terror;   but  every  year,  at   the   festival  of  tiie  patron 


66  THE  ABB  A    CONSTANTIN. 

saint  of  Longueval,  he  danced  gayly  with  tlie  young 
girls  and  farmers'  daughters  of  the  neighborhood. 

If  he  had  seen  Mrs.  Scott  and  Miss  Percival  at 
home  in  Paris,  in  all  the  splendor  of  their  luxury,  in 
all  the  perfection  of  their  costly  surroundings,  he 
woukl  have  looked  at  them  tVom  afar,  with  curiosit}', 
as  e-xcjuisite  works  of  art.  Then  he  would  have  re- 
turned home,  and  would  have  slept,  as  usual,  the 
most  peaceful  slumber  in  the  world. 

Yes,  but  it  was  not  thus  that  the  thing  had  come 
to  pass,  and  hence  his  excitement,  hence  his  dis- 
turbance. These  two  women  had  shown  themselves 
before  him  in  the  midst  of  a  circle  with  which  he 
was  familiar,  and  which  had  been,  if  only  for  this 
reason,  singularly  favorable  to  them.  Simple,  good, 
frank,  cordial,  such  they  had  shown  themselves  the 
very  iirst  day,  and  delightfully  pretty  into  the  bar- 
gain—  a  fact  which  is  pever  insignificant.  Jean  fell 
at  once  under  the  charm  ;   he  was  there  still  I 

At  the  moment  when  he  dismounted  in  the  bar- 
rack-yard, at  nine  o'clock,  the  old  priest  began  his 
campaign  joyously.  Since  the  previous  evening  the 
Abbe's  head  had  been  on  lire  :  Jean  had  not  .slept 
much,  but  he  had  not  slept  at  all.  lie  had  risen 
very  early,  and  with  closed  doors,  alone  with 
Pauline,  he  had  counted  and  re-counted  his  money, 
spreading  on  the  tal)le  his  hundred  "  louis  d'or," 
gloating  over  them  like  a  miser,  and  like  a  miser 
finding  exquisite  pleasure  in  handling  his  hoard. 
All  that  was  his  I  for  him!  —  that  is  to  say,  for  the 
poor. 

"Do  not  be  too  lavish.  Monsieur  le  Cur6,"  said 


THE  ABB  A    CONSTANTIN.  6"] 

Pauline;  "be  economical.  1  tliink  that  if  3-011 
distriljiite  to-day  a  hundred  francs  —  "" 

"That  is  not  enough,  Pauline.  I  shall  onlv  have 
one  such  da_\-  in  mv  life,  but  one  I  will  have.  How 
much  do   you  think   I   shall  give  to-day?" 

"  How  much.  Monsieur  le  Cure?  "■ 

"  A  thousand  francs  !  " 

' '  A  thousand  francs  !  ! "' 

"Yes.  We  are  millionaires  now;  we  possess  all 
the  treasures  of  America,  and  you  talk  about  econ- 
omy? Not  to-day,  at  all  events;  indeed,  I  have  no 
right  to  think  of  it." 

After  saying  mass,  at  nine  o'clock  he  set  out  and 
showered  gold  along  his  way.  All  had  a  share  — ■ 
the  poor  who  acknowledged  their  poverty  and  those 
who  concealed  it.  Each  alms  was  accompanied  by 
the  same  little  discourse  : 

"  This  comes  from  the  new  owners  of  Longueval 
—  two  American  ladies,  Mrs.  Scott  and  Miss 
Percival.  Remember  their  names  and  pray  for 
them." 

Then  he  made  off  without  waiting  for  thanks, 
across  the  fields,  through  the  woods,  froni  hamlet  to 
hamlet,  from  cottage  to  cottage  —  on,  on,  on.  A 
sort  of  intoxication  mounted  to  his  brain.  Every- 
where were  cries  of  joy  and  astonishment.  All 
these  "  louis  d'or"  fell,  as  if  by  a  miracle,  into  the 
poor  hands  accustomed  to  receive  little  pieces  of 
silver.  The  Cur6  was  guilty  of  follies,  actual  follies. 
He  was  out  of  bounds ;  he  did  not  recognize  him- 
self; he  had  lost  all  control  over  himself;  he  even 
gave  to  those  who  did  not  ask  anvthing. 


68  THE  ABB&    CONSTANTIN. 

He  met  Claude  Rigal,  the  old  sergeant,  wlio  had 
left  one  of  his  arms  at  Sevastopol.  He  was  growing 
gray  —  nay,  white,  for  time  passes,  and  the  soldiers 
of  the  Crimea  will  soon  be  old  men. 

"  Here,"  said  the  Cur6,  "  I  have  twenty  francs  for 
you."' 

"Twenty  francs!  But  I  never  asked  for  any- 
thing;  I   do  n"t  want  anything;   I  have  my  pension." 

His  pension  !     Seven  hundred  francs  I 

"  Very  good !  It  will  be  something  to  buy  you 
cigars.     Listen  :   it  comes  from  America."'' 

And  then  followed  the  Abbe's  little  speech  about 
the  new  owners  of  Longueval. 

He  went  to  a  poor  woman,  whose  son  had  just 
gone  to  Tunis. 

"  Well,  how  is  your  son  getting  on?  " 

"Not  so  bad.  Monsieur  le  Cur6 ;  1  had  a  letter 
from  him  yesterday.  He  does  not  complain,  he  is 
very  well,  only  he  says  there  are  no  Kroomirs. 
Poor  boy  !  I  have  been  saving  for  a  montli,  and  I 
think  I  shall  soon  be  able  to  send  him  ten  francs.''  " 

"  You  shall  .send  liim  thirty.      Take  this."" 

"  Twenty  francs  !  Monsieur  Ic  Cure,  you  give  me 
twenty  francs? "' 

"  Yes,  that  is  for  you." 

"  For  my  boy? "' 

"  For  your  boy.  But  listen  ;  you  must  know  from 
whom  it  comes,  and  you  must  take  care  to  tell  your 
son  when  you  write  to  him." 

Again  tiic  little  speech  about  Mrs.  Scott  and  Miss 
Percival,  and  again  the  adjuration  to  remember 
them  in  their  prayers.     At  six  o'clock  he  returned 


At  the  Oi'eka.     (Opposite  page  6S.) 


THE   ABB  A    CONSTANTIN.  69 

home  exhausted  with  fatigue,  Ijut  with  his  soul  tilled 
with  joy. 

"  I  have  given  awav  all ! "  he  cried,  as  soon  as  he 
saw  Pauline  ;    "  all !  all !  all !  " 

He  dined,  and  then  went  in  the  evening  to  per- 
form the  usual  service  for  the  month  of  Mary.  But 
this  time  the  harmonium  was  silent ;  Miss  Percival 
was  no  longer  there. 

The  little  organist  of  the  evening  before  was  at 
that  moment  much  perplexed.  On  two  couches  in 
her  dressing-room  were  spread  two  dresses, —  a  white 
and  a  blue.  Bettina  was  meditating  which  of  these 
two  dresses  she  would  wear  to  go  to  the  Opera  that 
evening.  After  long  hesitation  she  fi.xed  on  the  white. 
At  half-past  nine  the  two  sisters  ascended  the  grand 
staircase  at  the  Opera  House.  Just  as  they  entered 
their  box  the  curtain  rose  on  the  second  scene  of  the 
second  act  of  .Ihia,  that  containing  the  ballet  and 
march. 

Two  young  men,  Roger  de  Puymartin  and  Louis 
de  Martillet,  were  seated  in  the  front  of  a  stage-bo.x. 
The  young  ladies  of  the  corps  de  ballet  had  not  yet 
appeared,  and  these  gentlemen,  having  no  occupa- 
tion, were  amusing  themselves  with  looking  about  the 
house.  The  appearance  of  Miss  Percival  made  a 
strong  impression  upon  both. 

"  Ah  I  ah!"  said  Puymartin,  "there  she  is,  the 
little  golden  nugget  ! "' 

"  She  is  perfectly  dazzling  this  evening,  this  little 
golden  nugget,"  continued  Martillet.  "  Look  at  her, 
at  the  line  of  her  neck,  the  fall  of  her  shoulders,  — 
still  a  young  girl,  and  already  a  woman.'' 


70  THE  ABB&    CONSTANTIN. 

"Yes,  she  is  charming,  and  tolerably  well  off  into 
the  bargain." 

"  Fifteen  millions  of  her  own,  and  the  silver  mine 
is  still  productive."' 

"  B^rulle  told  me  twenty-five  millions,  and  he  is 
very  well  up  in  American  affairs." 

"Twenty-five  millions  I  A  pretty  haul  for  Ro- 
manelli  I  " 

'  *  What !     Romanelli  ?  " 

"  Report  says  that  that  will  be  a  match;  that  it  is 
already  settled." 

"A  match  may  be  arranged,  but  with  Alontessan, 
not  with  Romanelli.    Ah  I   at  last  I  Here  is  the  ballet." 

They  ceased  to  talk.  The  ballet  in  Aida  lasts 
only  five  minutes,  and  for  those  live  minutes  they 
had  come.  Conseciuently  they  must  be  enjoyed 
respectfully,  religiously,  for  it  is  a  peculiarity  among 
a  number  of  the  habitues  of  the  Opera,  that  they 
chatter  like  magpies  w'hen  they  ought  to  be  silent, 
to  listen,  and  that  they  observe  the  most  absolute 
silence  when  they  might  be  allowed  to  speak,  while 
looking  on. 

The  trumpets  of  "Aida"  had  given  their  last 
heroic  fanfare  in  honor  of  Radames  before  the  great 
sphinxes  under  the  green  foliage  of  the  palm-trees, 
the  dancers  advanced,  the  light  trembling  on  their 
spangled  roljes,  and  took  possession  of  the  stage. 

With  much  attention  and  pleasure  Mrs.  Scott  fol- 
lowed the  evolutions  of  the  ballet,  but  Bettina  had 
suddenly  become  thoughtful,  on  perceiving  in  a  box, 
on  the  other  side  of  the  house,  a  tall,  dark  young 
man.      Miss  Percival  talked  to  herself,  and  said  : 


Jean's  Stldv.     ((Jppositc  page  70,) 


THE  ABB&    CONSTANTIN.  71 

"What  shall  I  do?  What  shall  I  decide  on? 
Must  I  marry  him,  that  handsome,  tall  fellow  over 
there,  who  is  watching  me,  ...  for  he  is  looking 
at  me?  He  will  come  into  our  box  as  soon  as  this 
act  is  over,  and  then  I  have  only  to  say,  '  I  have  de- 
cided ;  here  is  my  hand  ;  I  will  be  your  wife,'  and 
then  all  would  be  settled  !  I  should  be  Princess  ! 
Princess  Romanelli  !  Princess  Bettina !  Bettina  Rom- 
anelli !  The  names  go  well  together ;  they  sound 
very  pretty.  Would  it  amuse  me  to  be  a  Princess? 
Yes  —  and  no  !  Amongst  all  the  young  men  in  Paris 
who  during  the  last  year  have  run  after  my  money, 
this  Prince  Romanelli  is  the  one  who  pleases  me  best. 
One  of  these  days  I  must  make  up  my  mind  to  marry. 
I  think  he  loves  me.  Yes,  but  the  question  is,  do  I 
love  him?  Xo.  I  don't  think  I  do,  and  I  should  so 
much  like  to  love  —  so  much,  so  much  !  " 

At  the  precise  moment  when  these  retiections  were 
pa.ssing  through  Bettina's  pretty  head,  Jean,  alone  in 
his  study,  seated  before  his  desk  with  a  great  book 
under  the  shade  of  his  lamp,  looking  through  the  his- 
tory of  Turenne's  campaigns,  and  was  taking  notes. 
He  had  been  directed  to  give  a  course  of  instruction 
to  the  non-commissioned  officers  of  the  regiment,  and 
was  prudently  preparing  his  lesson  for  the  next  day. 

But  in  the  midst  of  his  notes  — Nordlingen,  1645  ; 
les  Dunes,  1658;  Mulhausen  and  Turckheim,  1674- 
1675 — he  suddenly  perceived  (Jean  did  not  draw 
very  badly)  a  sketch,  a  woman's  portrait,  which  all 
at  once  appeared  under  his  pen.  What  was  she 
doing  there,  in  the  middle  of  Turenne's  victories, 
this  pretty  little  woman?     And  then  who  was  she  — 


72  THE  ABB  A    CONST ANTIN. 

Mrs.  Scott  or  Miss  Percival?  How  could  lie  tell? 
They  resembled  each  other  so  much  ;  and  laboriously, 
painfully,  Jean  returned  to  the  history  of  the  cam- 
paigns of  Turenne. 

And  at  the  same  moment  the  Abbe  Constantin, 
on  his  knees  before  his  little  wooden  bedstead,  was 
calling  down,  with  all  the  strength  of  his  soul,  the 
blessings  of  Heaven  on  the  two  women  through 
whose  bounty  he  had  passed  such  a  sweet  and 
happy  day.  He  prayed  Ciod  to  bless  Mrs.  Scott  in 
her  children,  and  to  give  to  Miss  Percival  a  hus- 
band after  her  own  heart. 


r^,^ 


CHAPTER    V. 

Formerly  Paris  belonged  to  the  Parisians,  and 
that  at  no  very  remote  period,  — tliirty  or  forty  years 
ago.  At  that  epoch  the  P'rench  were  tlie  masters  of 
Paris,  as  the  English  are  the  masters  of  London, 
the  Spaniards  of  Madrid,  and  the  Russians  of  St. 
Petersburg.  Those  times  are  no  more.  Other 
countries  still  have  their  frontiers ;  there  are  now 
none  to  France.  Paris  lias  become  an  immense 
Babel,  a  universal  and  international  city.  Foreigners 
do  not  come  merely  to  visit  Paris  ;  they  come  there  to 
live.  At  the  present  day  we  have  in  Paris  a  Russian 
colony,  a  Spanish  colony,  a  Levantine  colony,  an 
American  colony.  The  foreigners  have  already  con- 
quered from  us  the  greater  part  of  the  Champs- 
Elys^es     and     the     Boulevard     .Malesherbes ;      they 

73 


74  THE  ABB  A    CONSTANTIM. 

advance,  they  extend  their  outworks :  we  retreat, 
pressed  back  by  the  invaders ;  we  are  obliged  to 
expatriate  ourselves.  We  have  begun  to  found 
Parisian  colonies  in  the  plains  of  Passy,  in  the  plain 
of  Monceau,  in  quarters  which  formerly  were  not 
Paris  at  all,  and  which  are  not  quite  even  now. 
Amongst  the  foreign  colonies,  the  richest,  tlie  most 
populous,  the  most  brilliant,  is  the  American  colon  v. 
There  is  a  moment  when  an  American  feels  himself 
rich  enough  ;  a  Frenchman,  never.  The  American 
then  stops,  draws  breath,  and  while  still  husbanding 
the  capital,  no  longer  spares  the  income.  He  knows 
how  to  spend  ;  the  Frenchman  knows  only  how  to 
save. 

The  Frenchman  has  only  one  real  luxury.  —  his 
revolutions.  Prudently  and  wisely  he  reserves  him- 
self for  them,  knowing  well  that  they  will  cost  France 
dear,  but  that,  at  the  same  time,  they  w'ill  furnish 
the  opportunity  for  advantageous  investments.  The 
Frenchman  says  to  himself: 

"  Let  us  hoard  !  let  us  hoard  !  let  us  hoard  !  Some 
of  these  mornings  there  will  be  a  revolution,  which 
will  make  the  five  per  cents  fall  fifty  or  sixty  francs. 
I  will  buy  then.  Since  revolutions  are  inevitable,  let 
us  try  at  least  to  make  them  profitable." 

They  are  always  talking  about  tlie  people  wlio  are 
ruined  by  revolutions,  but  perhaps  the  number  of 
those  enriched  by  revolutions  is  still  greater. 

The  Americans  experience  the  attraction  of  J'aris 
very  strongly.  There  is  no  town  in  the  world  where 
it  is  easier  or  more  agreeable  to  spend  a  great  deal 
of  money.     Ft)r    many    reasons,   both    of  race    and 


THE  ABB&    COMSTAiVTIN.  75 

origin,  this  attraction  exercised  over  Mrs.  Scott  and 
JVIiss  Percival  a  very  remarkable  power. 

The  most  French  of  our  colonies  is  Canada,  wliich 
is  no  longer  ours.  The  recollection  of  their  first 
home  has  been  preserved  faithfully  and  tenderly  in 
the  hearts  of  the  emigrants  to  Montreal  and  Quebec. 
Suzie  Percival  liad  received  from  her  mother  an 
entirclv  French  education,  and  she  had  brought  up 
her  sister  in  the  same  love  of  our  country.  The  two 
sisters  felt  themselves  Frenchwomen :  still  better, 
Parisians.  As  soon  as  the  avalanche  of  dollars  had 
descended  upon  them,  the  same  desire  seized  them 
both,  — to  come  and  live  in  Paris.  They  demanded 
France  as  if  it  had  been  their  fatherland.  Mr.  Scott 
made  some  opposition. 

"If  I  go  away  from  here,"'  he  said,  "your  in- 
comes will  suffer." 

"What  does  that  matter?  ■' replied  Suzie.  *'We 
are  rich  —  too  rich.  Do  let  us  go.  We  shall  be  so 
happy,  so  delighted  !  " 

Mr.  Scott  allowed  himself  to  be  persuaded,  and 
at  the  beginning  of  January,  1880,  Suzie  wrote  the 
following  letter  to  her  friend,  Katie  Norton,  who  had 
lived  in  Paris  for  some  years : 

"Victory!  It  is  decided!  Richard  has  con- 
sented. I  shall  arrive  in  April,  and  become  a 
Frenchwoman  again.  You  offered  to  undertake  all 
the  preparations  for  our  settlement  in  Paris.  1  am 
horribly  presuming  —  I  accept!  When  I  arrive  in 
Paris,  I  should  like  to  be  able  to  enjoy  Paris,  and 
not  be  obliged  to  lose  my  first  month  in  nmning 
after  upholsterers,   coach-builders,   horse-dealers.     I 


76  THE  abbA  constantin. 

should  like,  on  arriving  at  the  railway  station,  to  find 
awaiting  me  iiiv  carriage,  my  coacliman,  my  horses. 
That  very  day  I  should  like  you  to  dine  with  me  at 
my  home.  Hire  or  buy  a  mansion,  engage  the  ser- 
vants, choose  the  horses,  the  carriages,  the  liveries. 
I  depend  entirely  upon  you.  As  long  as  the  liveries 
are  blue,  that  is  the  only  point.  This  line  is  added 
at  Bettina's  request. 

"We  shall  bring  only  seven  persons  with  us. 
Richard  will  have  his  valet,  Bettina  and  1  two  ladies'- 
maids ;  then  there  are  the  two  governesses  for  the 
children,  and,  besides  these,  two  grooms,  Toby  and 
Boljbv,  who  ride  to  perfection.  We  should  never 
find  in  Paris  such  a  perfect  jjair. 

"  Everything  else,  people  and  things,  we  shall 
leave  in  New  York.  No,  not  cjuite  everything;  I 
had  forgotten  four  little  ponies,  four  little  gems, 
black  as  ink.  We  have  not  the  heart  to  leave  them  ; 
we  shall  drive  them  in  a  phaeton;  it  is  delightful. 
Bolli  Bettina  and  1  drive  fi>ur-in-]ian(l  very  well. 
Ladies  can  drive  four-in-hand  in  the  •  Bois  *  very 
early  in  tiie  marning,  can't  they?  Here  it  is  quite 
possible. 

"Above  all,  my  dear  Katie,  do  not  consider 
money.  Be  as  extravagant  as  you  like,  that  is  all  I 
ask."' 

The  same  day  that  .Mrs.  Xorton  received  this 
letter  witnessed  the  failure  of  a  certain  (larneville. 
He  was  a  great  speculator  who  had  been  on  a  false 
scent.  Stocks  had  fallen  just  when  he  had  ex- 
pected a  rise.  This  Garneville  had,  six  weeks 
before,    installed    himself    in    a    brand    new    house, 


THE  ABR&    CONSTANTIN.  77 

wliicli  luid  no  other  foult  tlian  ;i  too  startlin<^  mag- 
hiticcnce. 

Mrs.  Norton  signed  an  agreement  —  one  hundred 
thousand  francs  a  year,  with  tlie  option  of  buying 
house  and  furniture  for  two  milUons  during  the  first 
year  of  possession.  A  famous  upholsterer  under- 
took to  correct  and  subdue  the  exaggerated  splendor 
of  a  loud  and  gorgeous  luxury. 

That  done,  Mrs.  Scott's  friend  had  the  good 
fortime  to  lay  her  hand  on  two  of  those  eminent 
artists  without  whom  the  routine  of  a  great  house 
can  neither  be  established  nor  carried  on.  The  first, 
a  tlicf  of  tiie  first  rank,  who  had  just  leit  an  ancient 
mansion  of  the  Faubourg  St. -Germain,  to  his  great 
regret,  iox  he  had  aristocratic  inclinations. 

"  Never,"  said  he  to  Mrs.  Norton,  —  "  never  would 
I  have  left  the  service  of  Madame  la  Duchesse  if  she 
had  kept  up  her  estal)lishment  on  the  same  footing 
as  formerl)- ;  but  Madame  la  Duchesse  has  four 
children,  — two  sons  who  have  run  through  a  good 
deal,  and  two  daughters  wiio  will  soon  be  of  an  age 
to  marry;  they  must  have  their  dowries.  There- 
fore Madame  la  Duchesse  is  obliged  to  draw  in  a 
little,  and  the  house  is  no  longer  important  enough 
for  me." 

This  distinguished  character,  of  course,  made  his 
conditions.  Though  excessive,  they  did  not  alarm 
Mrs.  Norton,  who  knew  that  he  was  a  man  of  the 
most  serious  merit ;  but  he,  before  deciding,  asked 
permission  to  telegraph  to  New  York.  He  wished 
to  make  certain  inquiries.  The  reply  was  favorable  ; 
he  accepted. 


yS  THE  ABB&    CONSTANTIN. 

The  second  great  artist  was  a  stud-groom  of  the 
rarest  and  highest  capacity,  who  was  just  about  to 
retire  after  having  made  his  fortune.  He  consented, 
however,  to  organize  the  stables  for  Mrs.  Scott.  It 
was  thoroughly  understood  that  he  should  have 
every  liberty  in  purchasing  the  horses ;  that  he 
should  wear  no  livery ;  that  he  should  choose  the 
coachmen,  the  grooms,  and  every  one  connected 
with  the  stables  ;  that  he  should  never  have  less  than 
fifteen  horses  in  the  stables,  that  no  bargain  should 
be  made  with  the  coach-builder  or  saddler  without 
his  intervention ;  and  that  he  should  never  mount  the 
box,  except  early  in  the  morning,  in  plain  clothes, 
to  give  lessons  in  driving  to  the  ladies  and  children, 
if  necessary. 

The  cook  took  possession  of  his  stores,  and  the 
stud-groom  of  liis  stables.  Everything  else  was  only 
a  question  of  money,  and  with  regard  to  this  Mrs. 
Norton  made  full  use  of  her  extensive  powers.  She 
acted  in  conformity  with  the  instructions  she  had 
received.  In  the  short  space  of  two  months  she 
performed  prodigies,  and  that  is  Iiow,  when,  on  the 
15th  of  April,  1880,  Mr.  Scott,  Su/.ie,  and  Bettina 
alighted  from  th^'  mail  train  Irom  Havre,  at  lialf-past 
four  in  the  afternoon,  they  found  Mrs.  Norton  at  tlie 
station  of  St.  Lazarre,  who  said  : 

"  \'oitr  caleche  is  there  in  the  yard:  IjL'hind  it  is  a 
landau  for  the  children;  and  behind  the  landau  is  an 
omnibus  for  the  servants.  The  three  carriages  ])ear 
your  monogram,  are  driven  by  your  coaciimen,  and 
drawn  by  your  horses.  \'()ur  address  is  24  Rue 
Murillo,  and  liere  is  the  menu  of  vour  dinner  to-ni";ht. 


THE  ABB&    CONSTANTIN.  79 

You  invited  me  two  months  ago ;  I  accept,  and  will 
even  take  the  liberty  of  bringing  a  dozen  friends  with 
me.  1  shall  furnish  everything,  even  the  guests. 
But  do  not  be  alarmed ;  you  know  them  all ;  they  are 
mutual  friends,  and  this  evening  we  shall  be  able  to 
judge  of  the  merits  of  3-our  cook.'' 

The  tirst  Parisian  who  had  the  honor  and  pleasure 
of  paying  homage  to  the  beauty  of  Mrs.  Scott  and 
Miss  Percival  was  a  little  "  marmiton  "  or  baker's  boy 
of  fifteen  years  old,  who  stood  there  in  his  white 
clothes,  his  wicker  basket  on  his  head,  just  as  Mrs. 
Scott's  carriage,  entangled  in  the  multitude  of  vehi- 
cles, was  slowly  working  its  way  out  of  the  station. 
The  baker's  boy  stopped  short'  on  the  pavement, 
opened  wide  his  eyes,  looked  at  the  two  sisters  with 
amazement,  and  boldly  cast  full  in  their  faces  the 
single  word  : 

"  Masettc  .'"' 

When  Madame  Recamier  saw  her  first  wrinkles 
and  first  gray  hairs,  she  said  to  a  friend  — 

"  Ah  !  my  dear,  there  are  no  more  illusions  left  for 
me  !  From  tlie  day  when  1  saw  that  the  little  chimney- 
sweeps no  longer  turned  round  in  the  street  to  look  at 
me,  I  understood  that  all  was  over.'' 

The  opinion  of  confectioners'  boys  is,  in  simi- 
lar cases,  of  equal  value  with  the  opinion  of  the  little 
chimney-sweeps.  All  was  not  over  for  Suzie  and 
Bettina ;  on  the  contrary,  all  was  only  beginning. 

Five  minutes  later,  Mrs.  Scott's  carriage  was  as- 
cending the  Boulevard  Haussmann  to  the  slow  and 
measured  trot  of  a  pair  of  admirable  horses.  Paris 
counted  two  Parisians  the  more. 


8o  THE  ABB&    CONSTANTIN. 

The  success  of  Mrs.  Scott  and  Miss  Percival  was 
immediate,  decisive,  like  a  flash  of  Hghtning.  The 
beauties  of  Paris  are  not  classed  and  catalogued 
like  the  beauties  of  London  ;  they  do  not  publish 
their  portraits  in  the  illustrated  papers,  or  allow  their 
photograph  to  be  sold  at  the  stationers'.  However, 
there  is  always  a  little  staff,  consisting  of  a  score  of 
women,  wlio  represent  the  grace,  and  charm,  and 
beauty  of  Paris,  which  women,  after  ten  or  twelve 
years'  service,  pass  into  the  reserve,  just  like  the  old 
generals.  Suzie  and  Bettina  imn\ediately  became 
part  of  this  little  staff.  It  was  an  affair  of  four-and- 
twenty  hours  —  of  less  than  four-and-twenty  hours, 
for  all  passed  between  eight  in  the  morning  and  mid- 
night the  day  after  their  arrival  in  Paris. 

Imagine  a  sort  of  little  '■'■  fcerie,"'  in  three  acts,  the 
success  of  which  increases  from  tableau  to  tableau. 

1st.  A  ride  at  ten  in  the  morning  in  the  Bois,  with 
the  two  marvellous  grooms  imported  from  America. 

2d.  .\  walk  at  six  o'clock  in  the  "  Alice  des 
Acacias."' 

3d.  An  appearance  at  tlie  Oi)cra  at  ten  in  the 
evening  in  .Mrs.  Norton's  box. 

The  two  new-comers  were  immediately  remarked, 
and  appreciated  as  they  deserved  to  be,  by  the  thirty 
or  forty  persons  who  constitute  a  sort  of  mysterious 
tribunal,  and  wlio,  in  the  name  of  all  Paris,  pass  sen- 
tences beyond  appeal.  Tiiese  thirty  or  forty  persons 
have  from  time  to  time  tlie  fancy  to  declare  "deli- 
cious ''  some  woman  who  is  manifestly  ugly.  That 
is  enough;  she  is  "delicious"  from  that  moment. 

The  beauty  of  the  two  sisters  was  unquestionable. 


THE  ABB  A    CONSTANTIN.  8 1 

In  the  morning  it  was  their  grace,  their  elegance, 
their  distinction  that  attracted  universal  admiration  ; 
in  the  afternoon  it  was  declared  that  their  wall<  had 
tlie  freedom  and  ease  of  two  young  goddesses ;  in 
the  evening  there  was  but  one  cry  of  rapture  at  the 
ideal  perfection  of  their  shoulders.  From  that  mo- 
ment all  Paris  had  for  the  two  sisters  the  eyes  of  the 
little  "  marmiton  "  of  the  Rue  d'Amsterdam  ;  all  Paris 
repeated  his  "  Alazette,"  though  naturally  with  the 
variations  and  developments  im[)osed  by  the  usages 
of  the  world. 

Mrs.  Scott's  drawing-room  immediately  became 
the  fashion.  The  Jiahititcs  of  three  or  four  great 
American  liouses  transferred  themselves  in  a  body 
to  tlie  Scotfs,  wlio  liad  three  hundred  persons  at 
their  first  Wednesday.  Their  circle  rapidly  in- 
crea.sed  ;  there  was  a  little  of  everything  to  be  found 
in  their  set,  — Americans,  Spaniards,  Italians,  Hun- 
garians, Russians,  and  even  Parisians. 

When  she  had  related  her  story  to  the  Abb6 
Con.stantin,  Mrs.  Scott  had  not  told  all  —  one 
never  does  tell  all.  In  a  word,  she  was  a  coquette. 
Mr.  Scott  had  tlie  most  perfect  confidence  in  his 
wife,  and  left  her  entire  liljerty.  He  was  very  little 
seen;  he  was  an  lionorable  man,  who  felt  a  vague 
embarrassment  at  iiaving  made  such  a  marriage,  at 
having  married  so  much  money.  Having  a  taste  for 
business,  he  had  great  pleasure  in  devoting  himself 
entirely  to  the  administering  of  tlie  two  immense 
fortunes  which  were  in  his  hands,  in  continually 
increasing  them,  and  in  saying  every  year  to  his 
wife  and  sister-in-law : 


82  THE  ABB&    COXSTANTIN. 

"  You  are  still  richer  than  you  were  last  year!" 

Not  content  with  watching  with  much  prudence 
and  ability  over  the  interests  which  he  had  left  in 
America,  he  launched  in  France  into  large  specula- 
tions, and  was  as  successful  in  Paris  as  he  had  been 
in  New  York.  In  order  to  make  money,  the  tirst 
thing  is  to  have  no  need  of  it. 

They  made  love  to  Mrs.  Scott  to  an  enormous 
extent ;  they  made  love  to  her  in  French,  in  Italian, 
in  English,  in  Spanish,  for  she  knew  those  four 
languages,  and  there  is  one  advantage  that  foreigners 
have  over  our  poor  Parisians,  who  generally  known 
only  their  mother  tongue,  and  have  not  the  resource 
of  international  passions. 

Naturally  Mrs.  Scott  did  not  chase  her  adorers 
from  her  presence.  She  had  ten,  twenty,  thirty  at 
a  time.  No  one  could  boast  of  any  preference; 
to  all  she  opposed  the  same  amiable,  laughing,  joy- 
ous resistance.  It  was  clear  to  all  that  the  game 
amused  her,  and  that  she  did  not  for  a  moment 
take  it  seriously.  Mr.  Scott  never  felt  a  moment's 
anxietv,  and  he  was  perfectly  right.  More,  he  en- 
joyed his  wife's  successes  ;  he  was  happy  in  seeing  her 
hai)py.  He  loved  her  dearly — a  little  more  than 
she  loved  him.  She  loved  him  very  much,  and 
that  was  all.  There  is  a  great  difference  between 
dearly  and  7>c)y  much  when  these  two  adverbs  are 
placed  after  the  verb  to  lo\e. 

As  to  Bettina,  around  her  was  a  maddening  whirl, 
an  orgy  of  adulation  !  Such  a  fortune  !  such  beauty  ! 
Miss  Percival  arrived  in  Paris  on  the  15th  of  April; 
a  fortnight   had   not   passed   before  the  offers  of  mar- 


THE  ABB&    CONSTANT fN.  S3 

riage  began  to  pour  upon  her.  In  the  course  of  that 
first  year  she  might,  had  she  wished  it,  have  been 
married  thirty-four  times,  and  to  what  a  variety  of 
suitors  ! 

Her  hand  was  asked  for  a  }oung  exile,  who, 
under  certain  circumstances,  miglit  be  called  to 
ascend  a  throne  —  a  very  small  one,  it  is  tnie,  but 
a  throne  nevertheless. 

Her  hand  was  asked  for  a  young  Duke,  who 
would  make  a  great  figure  at  Court  when  France  — 
as  was  inevitable  —  sliould  recognize  her  errors, 
and  bow  down  before   iier  legitimate  masters. 

Her  hand  was  asked  for  a  young  Prince,  who 
would  have  a  place  on  the  steps  of  the  throne  when 
France  —  as  was  inevitable  —  should  again  knit 
together  the  chain  of  the  Napoleonic  traditions. 

Her  hand  was  asked  for  a  young  Republican 
deputy,  who  JTad  just  made  a  brilliant  dlbitt  in  the 
Chamber,  and  for  wliom  the  future  reserved  the 
most  splendid  destiny,  for  the  Republic  was  now 
established  in  France  on  the  most  indestructible 
basis. 

Her  hand  was  asked  for  a  young  Spaniard  of  the 
purest  lineage,  and  she  was  given  to  understand  that 
the  contrat  would  be  signed  in  the  palace  of  a  queen 
who  does  not  live  far  from  the  Arc  de  TEtoile. 
Besides,  one  can  find  her  address  in' the  "  Almanach 
Bottin,"  for  at  the  present  day  there  are  queens  who 
have  their  address  in  Bottin  between  an  attorney 
and  a  druggist :  it  is  only  the  kings  of  France 
who  no  longer  live  in  France. 

Her   hand   was   asked   for  tlie    son   of  a   peer  of 


§4  THE  ABB  A    CONS7\L\'7VX. 

England,  and  for  the  son  of  a  member  of  the  highest 
Viennese  aristocracy ;  for  the  son  of  a  Parisian 
banker,  and  for  tlie  son  of  a  Russian  anil)assador ; 
for  a  Hungarian  Count,  and  for  an  Italian  Prince; 
and  also  for  various  excellent  \'oung  men  who  were 
nothing  and  had  nothing  —  neither  name  nor  for- 
tune; but  Bettina  had  granted  them  a  waltz,  and, 
believing  themselves  irresistible,  they  lioped  tliat 
they  had  caused  a  flutter  of  that   little   heart. 

But  up  to  the  present  moment  nothing  had 
touched  that  little  heart,  and  the  re])lv  had  been 
the  same  to  all,  —  '•  No  ! "'  "  No  !  "  again  "  No  !  " 
always  "  No  ! '' 

Some  days  after  that  jH-rformance  of  .IhLi,  the 
two  sisters  had  a  ratlier  long  conversation  on  tliis 
great,  this  eternal  question  of  marriage.  A  certain 
name  had  been  jironounced  by  Mrs.  Scott  which 
had  provoked  on  the  part  of  Miss  Percival  the  most 
decided  and  most  energetic  refusal,  and  .Suzie  had 
laughingly  said  to  her  sister: 

"  But,  Bettina.  vou  will  be  obliged  to  end  by 
marrying." 

"  Yes,  certainly,  l)ut  I  should  be  so  sorry  to 
marry  without  love.  It  seems  to  me  that  before  I 
could  resolve  to  do  such  a  thing  I  must  Ix'  in  dan- 
ger of  dying  an  old  maid,  and  I  am  not  yet  that." 

'♦  No,  not  yet." 

"  Let  us  wait,  let  us  wait."' 

"  Let  us  wait.  But  among  all  these  lovers  whom 
you  have  been  dragging  after  you  ior  the  last  year, 
there  have  been  some  very  nice,  \-ery  amiable,  and  it 
is  reallv  a  little  strange  if  none  of  them  — " 


THE  ABB&    COXSTANTIN.  "^S 

"  Not  one,  my  Suzie,  not  one ;  absolutely  not  one. 
Why  should  I  not  tell  you  the  truth  ?  Is  it  their  fault  ? 
Have  they  gone  unskilfully  to  work?  Could  they,  in 
managing  better,  have  found  the  way  to  my  heart? 
or  is  the  fault  in  me?  Is  it,  perhaps,  that  the  way 
to  my  heart  is  a  steep,  rocky,  inaccessible  way, 
by  which  no  one  will  ever  pass?  Am  I  a  horrid 
little  creature,  arid,  cold,  and  condemned  never  to 
love  ? "' 

"I  do  not  think  so." 

"Neither  do  1.  but  up  to  the  present  time  that 
is  my  history.  No,  I  have  never  felt  anything 
which  resembled  love.  You  are  laughing,  and  I  can 
guess  why.  You  are  saying  to  yourself,  '  A  little  girl 
like  that  pretending  to  know  what  love  is  ! ''  You 
are  right ;  1  do  not  know,  but  I  have  a  pretty  good 
idea.  To  love  —  is  it  not  to  prefer  to  all  in  the 
world  one  certain  person  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;   it  is  really  that." 

"  Is  it  not  never  to  weary  of  seeing  that  person, 
or  of  hearing  him?  Is  it  not  to  cease  to  live  when 
he  is  not  there,  and  to  immediately  begin  to  revive 
when  he  reappears?" 

"  Oh  !   but  this  is  romantic  love." 

"Well,  that  is  the  love  of  which  I  dream,  and 
that  is  the  love  which  does  not  come  —  not  at  all  till 
now ;  and  yet  that  person  preferred  by  me  to  all 
and  everything  does  e.xi.st.  Do  you  know  who 
it  is?" 

"  No,  I  do  not  know:  1  do  not  know,  but  I  have 
a  little  suspicion." 

"  Yes,  it  is  you,    my  dearest ;  and    it   is  perhaps 


86  THE  ABB&    CONSTANTLY 

you,  naughty  sister,  who  makes  me  so  insensible  and 
cruel  on  this  point.  I  love  you  too  much;  you 
fill  my  heart ;  you  have  occupied  it  entirely ;  there  is 
no  room  for  any  one  else.  Prefer  any  one  to  you  ! 
love  any  one  more  than  you  !  That  will  never,  never 
be!" 

"  Oh,  yes,  it  will  I ''" 

"Oh,  no  I  Love  differently,  perliaps.  Init  more  — 
no.  He  must  not  count  upon  that,  this  gentleman 
whom  I  expect,  and  who  do2s  not  arrive." 

"Do  not  be  afraid,  my  Betty;  there  is  room  in 
your  heart  for  all  whom  you  should  love,  —  for  your 
husband,  for  your  children,  and  that  without  your 
old  sister  losing  anything.  The  lieart  is  very  little, 
but  it  is  also  very  large." 

Bettina  tenderly  kissed  her  sister;  then  resting 
her  head  coaxingly  on  Suzie's  shoulder,  she  .said  : 

"  If,  however,  you  are  tired  of  keeping  me  with  vou, 
if  you  are  in  a  hurrv  to  get  rid  of  me,  do  vou  know 
what  1  will  do?  I  will  put  the  names  of  two  of  these 
gentlemen  in  a  basket,  and  draw  lots.  There  are 
two  who  at  the  last  extremity  would  not  be  absolutely 
disagreeable." 

••  Which  two  ?" 

"  Guess." 

"  Prince  Romanelli." 

"  For  one  I     And  the  other?" 

"  Monsieur  de  Montessan." 

"  Those  are  the  two !  It  is  just  that.  Those  two 
would  be  acceptable,  but  onlv  acceptal)le,  and  that  is 
not  enough." 

This   is   why    Piettina    awaited   with    extreme    im- 


v^. 


I'liE  CoNi  EsbioN.     (Oppo^iu-  page  so  ) 


TfTE   ABB&    CONSTANTIN.  Sj 

patience  the  day  when  they  should  leave  Paris,  and 
take  up  their  abode  in  Longueval.  She  was  a  little 
tired  ot  so  much  pleasure,  so  much  success,  so  many 
offers  of  marriage.  The  whirlpool  of  Parisian 
gayety  had  seized  her  on  her  arrival,  and  would  not 
let  her  go,  not  for  one  hour  of  halt  or  rest.  She 
felt  the  need  of  being  given  up  to  herself  for  a  few 
days,  to  herself  alone,  to  consult  and  question  her- 
self at  her  leisure,  in  the  complete  solitude  of  the 
country  —  in  a  word,  to  belong  to  herself  again. 

So  was  not  Bettina  all  sprightly  and  joyous  when, 
on  the  14th  of  June,  they  took  the  noon  train  for 
Longueval?  As  soon  as  she  was  alone  in  a  com- 
partment with   her  sister  — 

"Ah,"  she  cried,  '-how  happy  I  am!  Let  us 
breathe  a  little,  quite  alone,  you  and  me,  for  a  few 
days.  The  Nortons  and  Turners  do  not  come  till 
the  25th,  do  they  ?" 

"  No,  not  till  the  25th." 

"We  will  pass  our  lives  riding  or  driving  in  the 
woods,  in  the  tields.  Ten  days  of  lil^erty  !  And 
during  those  ten  days  no  more  lovers,  no  more 
lovers  !  And  all  those  lovers,  with  what  are  they 
in  love,  —  with  me  or  my  money  ?  That  is  the 
mystery,  the  unfathomable  mystery." 

The  engine  whistled  ;  the  train  put  itself  slowly 
into  motion.  A  wild  idea  entered  Bettina's  head. 
She  leant  out  of  the  window  and  cried,  accompany- 
ing her  words  wilii  a  little  wave  of  the  hand: 

"  Good-by,  my  lovers,  good-by  !  " 

Then  she  threw  herself  suddenly  into  a  corner  of 
the  compartment  with  a  hearty  burst  of  laughter. 


88  THE  ABB&    CONSTANTIN. 

"  Oh  !  Suzie,  Suzie  !  " 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  " 

"  A  man  with  a  red  flag  in  his  hand  ;  lie  saw  me, 
and  he  looked  so  astonished." 

' '  You  are  so  irrational ! "' 

"Yes,  it  is  true,  to  have  called  out  of  the  window 
like  that,  but  not  to  be  happy  at  thinking  that  we 
are  going  to  live  alone,  en  gm-qons."' 

"Alone!  alone!  Not  exactly  that.  To  begin 
with,  we  shall  have  two  people  to  dinner  to-night.'' 

"  Ah  I  that  is  true.  But  those  two  people,  I  shall 
not  be  at  all  sorry  to  see  them  again.  Yes,  I  shall 
be  very  pleased  to  see  the  old  Cure  again,  out  es- 
pecially the  young  officer."' 

"What!  especially?" 

"Certainly;  because  what  the  lawyer  from  Sou- 
vigny  told  us  the  other  day  is  so  touching,  and  what 
that  great  artilleryman  did  when  he  was  quite  little 
w^as  so  good,  so  good,  that  this  evening  I  shall  seek 
for  an  opportunity  of  telling  liim  what  I  think  of  it, 
and  I  shall  find  one." 

Then  Bettina,  abruptly  clianging  the  course  of  the 
conversation,  continued  : 

"  Did  they  send  the  telegram  yesterday  to  lOdwanls 
about  the  ponies  ? " 

"Yes,  yesterday  l)efore  dinner."' 

'•  Oil  !  you  will  let  nie  drive  tiicm  up  to  the  house. 
It  will  be  such  fun  to  go  through  the  town,  and  to 
drive  u])  at  full  speed  into  the  court  in  front  of  the 
entrance.     Tell  me,  will  you  ? "" 

"  Yes,  certainly,  you  shall  drive  the  ponies." 

"Oh,  how  nice  of  vou,  Suzie!" 


LtAVlNG  Tiiii   Kaii-WAV  STATION.     (Opposite  page  SS.) 


THE  ABB&    CONSTANTIN.  89 

Edwards  was  the  stud-groom.  He  had  arrived  at 
Longueval  three  days  before.  He  deigned  to  come 
himself  to  meet  Mrs.  Scott  and  Miss  Percival.  He 
brought  tlie  phaeton  drawn  by  tlie  four  black  ponies. 
He  was  waiting  at  the  station.  Tlie  passage  of  the 
ponies  through  the  principal  street  of  the  town  had 
made  a  sensation.  The  population  rushed  out  of 
their  houses,  and  asked  eagerly : 

' '  What  is  it  ?     What  can  it  be  ?  " 

Some  ventured  the  opinion  : 

"  It  is,  perhaps,  a  travelling  circus." 

But  exclamations  arose  on  all  sides : 

"  You  did  not  notice  the  style  of  it  —  the  carriage 
and  the  harness  shining  like  gold,  and  the  little 
horses  with  white  rosettes  on  each  side  of  their 
heads."' 

The  crowd  collected  around  the  station,  and  those 
who  were  curious  learnt  that  they  were  going  to 
witness  the  arrival  of  the  new  owners  of  Longueval. 
They  were  slightly  disenchanted  when  the  two  sisters 
appeared,  very  pretty,  but  in  very  simple  travelling- 
costumes.  These  good  people  had  almost  expected 
the  apparition  of  two  princesses  out  of  fairy  tales, 
clad  in  silk  and  brocade,  sparkling  with  rubies  and 
diamonds.  But  they  opened  wide  their  eyes  when 
they  saw  Bettina  walk  slowly  round  the  four  ponies, 
caressing  one  after  the  other  lightly  with  her  hand, 
and  examining  all  the  details  of  the  team  with  the 
air  of  a  connoisseur. 

Having  made  her  inspection,  Bettina,  without  the 
least  hurry,  drew  off  her  long  Swedish  gloves,  and 
replaced  them  by  a  pair  of  dog-skin  which  she  took 


90  THE  ABB£    CONSTANTTN. 

from  the  pocket  of  the  carriage  apron.  Then  she 
slipped  on  to  the  box  in  the  place  of  Edwards,  re- 
ceiving from  liim  the  reins  and  whip  witli  extreme 
dexterity,  without  allowing  the  already  excited  horses 
to  perceive  that  they  had  changed  hands. 

Mrs.  Scott  seated  herself  beside  her  sister.  The 
ponies  pranced,  curvetted,  and  threatened  to  rear. 

■•'Be  very  careful,  mademoiselle,"  said  Edwards; 
"  tlie  ponies  are  very  fresh  to-day." 

"Do  not  be  afraid,"  replied  Bettina.  "I  know 
them." 

Miss  Percival  had  a  hand  at  once  very  firm,  very 
light,  and  very  just.  She  held  in  the  ponies  for  a  few 
moments,  forcing  them  to  keep  their  own  places ; 
then,  waving  the  long  thong  of  licr  wliip  round  tlie 
leaders,  she  started  licr  little  team  at  once,  with  in- 
comparable skill,  and  leil  tlie  station  witli  an  air  of 
triumph,  in  the  midst  ol  a  long  murmur  of  astonish- 
ment and  admiration. 

The  trot  of  the  black  ponies  rang  on  the  little  oval 
paving-stones  of  Souvigny.  Bettina  held  them  well 
together  until  she  had  left  the  town,  I)ut  as  soon  as 
she  saw  I)efore  her  a  clear  mile  and  a  lialf  of  high- 
road—  almost  on  a  dead  level  —  she  let  them 
gradually  increase  tlieir  speed,  till  tliey  went  like  the 
wind. 

"  Oh,  how  happy  1  am,  Suzie  !  "  cried  she  ;  "  and 
we  shall  trot  and  gallop  all  alone  on  these  roads. 
Suzie,  would  you  like  to  drive.''  It  is  such  a  delight 
when  one  can  let  them  go  at  full  speed.  They 
are  so  spirited  and  so  gentle.  Come,  take  the 
reins." 


THE  ABBi    COXSTANTIN.  91 

"  No;  keep  them.  It  is  a  greater  pleasure  to  me 
to  see  you  happy. ^' 

"  Oh  !  as  to  that,  I  am  perfectly  happy.  I  do  like 
so  much  to  drive  four-in-hand  with  plenty  of  space 
before  me.  At  Paris,  even  in  the  morning,  I  did 
not  dare  to  any  longer.  I  was  stared  at  so,  it 
annoyed  me.  But  here  —  no  one!  no  one!  no 
one  !  " 

At  the  moment  when  Bettina,  already  a  little  in- 
toxicated with  the  bracing  air  and  liberty,  gave  forth 
triumphantly  these  three  exclamations,  "  No  one  !  no 
one  !  no  one  !  "  a  rider  appeared,  walking  his  horse 
in  the  direction  of  the  carriage.  It  was  Paul  de 
Lavardens.  He  had  been  watching  for  more  tlian 
an  hour  for  the  pleasure  of  seeing  the  Americans 
pass. 

"  You  are  mistaken,"'  said  Suzie  to  Bettina, 
"  there  is  some  one.'' 

"  A  peasant :  they  don't  count ;  they  won't  ask  me 
to  marry  them." 

"  It  is  not  a  peasant  at  all.     Look  ! '' 

Paul  de  Lavardens,  while  passing  the  carriage, 
made  the  two  sisters  a  highly  correct  bow,  from 
which  one  at  once  scented  the  Parisian. 

The  ponies  were  going  at  such  a  rate  that  the 
meeting  was  over  like  a  flash  of  lightning. 

Bettina  cried  : 

"  Wlio  is  that  gentleman  wlio  has  just  bowed  to 
us?" 

"  I  had  scarcely  time  to  see,  but  I  seemed  to 
recognize  him." 

"  You  recosinized  him?" 


92 


THE  ABB  A    CONSTANTIN. 


"  Yes,  and  I  would  wager  that  I  have  seen  hhn  at 
our  house  this  winter." 

"  Heavens  !  if  it  should  be  one  of  the  thirty- four  ! 
Is  all  that  going  to  begin  again?" 


i 

■IP 

1 

/ 

"m':'^-^ 

1 

r 

I 

i^ 

^-y^/'^ 

■■ii 

-.m/C. 

,    , 

CHAPTER   VI. 

That  same  clay  at  half-past  seven  Jean  went  to 
fetch  the  Cure,  and  the  two  walked  together  up  to 
the  house.  During  the  last  month  a  perfect  arniy 
of  workmen  had  taken  possession  of  I.ongueval ; 
all  the  inns  in  the  village  were  making  their  for- 
tunes. Immense  furniture  wagons  brought  cargoes 
of  furniture  and  decorations  from  Paris.  Forty- 
eight  hours  before  the  arrival  of  Mrs.  Scott,  Ma- 
demoiselle Marbeau,  the  post -mistress,  and  Madame 
Lormier,  the  mayoress,  had  wormed  themselves  into 
the  castle,  and  the  account  they  gave  of  the  interior 
turned  every  one's  head.  The  old  furniture  had 
disappeared,  banished  to  the  attics ;  one  moved 
amongst  a  perfect  accumulation  of  wonders.  And 
the  stables  !  and  the  coach-houses  !  A  special  train 
had  brought  from  Paris,  under  the  high  superintend- 


93 


94  THE  ABB  A    CONSTANTIN. 

ence  of  Edwards,  a  dozen  carriages  —  and  such  car- 
riages !     Twenty  horses  —  and  such  horses  ! 

The  Abb6  Constantin  thouglit  that  he  knew  what 
luxury  was.  Once  a  year  he  dined  with  his  bishop, 
Monseigneur  Faubert,  a  rich  and  amiable  prelate, 
who  entertained  rather  largely.  The  Cur6,  till  now, 
had  thought  that  there  was  nothing  in  the  world 
more  sumptuous  than  tlie  episcopal  palace  of 
Souvigny,  or  the  castles  of  Lavardens  and  Longue- 
val. 

He  began  to  understand,  from  what  he  was  told 
of  the  new  splendors  of  Longueval,  that  the  luxury 
of  the  great  houses  of  the  present  day  must  surpass 
to  a  singular  degree  the  solder  and  severe  luxury  of 
the  great  houses  of  former  times. 

As  soon  as  the  Cure  and  Jean  had  entered  the 
avenue  in  the  park,  wliicli  led  to  the  liouse  — 

"  Look  !  Jean,"  said  the  Cur6  ;  "  wliat  a  change  ! 
All  this  part  of  the  park  used  to  be  quite  neglected, 
and  now  all  the  paths  are  gravelled  and  raked.  I 
shall  not  be  able  to  feel  myself  at  home  as  I  u.sed  to 
do;  it  will  l)e  too  grand.  I  shall  not  lind  again  my 
old  I)r()wn  velvet  easy-chaii',  in  whicli  I  so  often  fell 
asleep  after  dinner ;  and  if  I  fall  asleep  this  evening 
what  will  become  of  me?  You  will  think  of  it, 
Jean,  and  if  you  see  that  I  begin  to  forget  myself, 
you  will  come  behind  me  and  pinch  my  arm  gently, 
won't  you?     You  promise  me?" 

"Certainly,  certainly,  1  promise  you." 

Jean  paid  but  slight  attention  to  the  convensation 
of  the  Cur6.  He  felt  extremely  impatient  to  see 
Mrs.  Scott  and  Miss  Percival  again;   but  this  impa- 


THE  ABBA    CONSTANTIN.  9$ 

tience  was  mingled  with  very  keen  anxiety.  Would 
he  find  them,  in  the  great  salon  at  Longueval,  the 
same  as  he  had  seen  them  in  the  little  dining-room 
at  the  vicarage?  Perhaps,  instead  of  those  two 
women,  so  perfectly  simple  and  familiar,  amusing 
themselves  with  this  little  improvised  dinner,  and 
who,  the  very  first  day,  Iiad  treated  liim  with  so 
much  grace  and  cordiality,  perhaps  he  would  find 
two  pretty  dolls,  —  worldly,  elegant,  cold,  and  cor- 
rect? Would  his  first  impression  be  eifaced? 
Would  it  disappear?  or,  on  the  contrary,  would  the 
impression  in  his  heart  become  still  sweeter  and 
deeper? 

They  ascended  the  six  steps  at  tlie  entrance,  and 
were  received  in  the  hall  by  two  tall  footmen  of  the 
most  dignified  and  imposing  appearance.  This  hall 
had  been  a  vast,  frigid  apartment,  with  bare  stone 
walls.  These  walls  were  now  covered  with  admirable 
tapestry,  representing  mythological  subjects.  The 
Cur6  dared  scarcely  glance  at  this  tapestry ;  it  was 
enough  for  him  to  perceive  that  the  goddesses  who 
wandered  through  these  shades  wore  costumes  of 
antique  simplicity. 

One  of  the  footmen  opened  wide  the  folding-doors 
of  the  salon.  It  was  there  that  one  had  generally 
found  tlie  old  .Marquise,  on  tlie  right  of  the  high 
chimney-piece,  and  on  the  left  Iiad  stood  the  l)rown 
velvet  easy-chair. 

No  brown  easy-chair  now  !  That  old  relic  of  the 
Empire,  which  was  the  basis  of  the  arrangement  of 
the  salon,  had  l)een  replaced  Ijy  a  marvellous  speci- 
men   of   tapestry    of   the    end   of   the   last    century. 


96  THE  ABBi,    COXSTAiVTIN. 

Then  a  crowd  of  little  easy-chairs,  and  ottomans  of 
all  forms  and  all  colors,  were  scattered  here  and 
there  with  an  appearance  of  disorder  wiiich  was  the 
perfection  of  art. 

As  soon  as  Mrs.  Scott  saw  tlie  Cure  and  Jean 
enter,  she  rose,  and  going  to  meet  them,  said  : 

"  How  kind  of  you  to  come.  Monsieur  le  Cur6, 
and  you  too.  Monsieur  Jean.  How  pleased  I 
am  to  see  you,  my  first,  my  only  friends  down 
here  ! '' 

Jean  breathed  again.      It  was  tlie  same  woman. 

"Will  you  aUow  me,''  added  Mrs.  Scott,  "to 
introduce  my  children  to  you.  Harry  and  Bella, 
come   here."' 

Harry  was  a  very  pretty  little  boy  of  six,  and 
Bella  a  very  charming  little  girl  of  five  years  old. 
They  had  their  motlier's  large  dark  eyes  and  lier 
golden  liair. 

After  the  Cure  had  kissed  the  two  cliildren, 
Harry,  who  was  looking  witli  admiration  at  Jean's 
uniform,  said   to   his   niotlier: 

"  And  tlie  soldier,  mamma,  must  we  kiss  him 
too?  ■' 

"  If  vou  like,"  replied  .Mrs.  Scott.  "  and  if  he  will 
allow  it." 

A  moment  after,  the  two  children  were  installed 
upon  Jean"s  knees,  and  overwhelming  him  with 
questions. 

"  Are  you  an  oflicer?" 

"  Yes,  I  am  an  olificer." 

"  What  in?" 

"In  the  artillery." 


THE  ABB&    CONSTANTIN.  97 

"The  artillery!  Oh!  you  are  one  of  the  men 
who  fire  the  cannons.  Oh,  how  I  should  like  to  be 
quite  near  when  tliey  fire  the  cannons ! "' 

"  Will  you  take  us  some  day  \vhen  they  fire  the 
cannons?     Tell  me,  will  you?"' 

Meanwhile  Mrs.  Scott  chatted  with  the  Cure,  and 
Jean,  while  replying  to  the  children's  questions, 
looked  at  Mrs.  Scott.  She  wore  a  white  muslin 
dress,  but  the  muslin  disappeared  under  a  complete 
avalanche  of  little  flounces  of  Valenciennes.  The 
dress  was  cut  out  in  front  in  a  large  square,  her 
arms  were  bare  to  the  cll)ow,  a  large  bouqviet  of  red 
roses  at  the  opening  of  her  dress,  a  red  rose  fi.xed 
in  her  hair  with  a  diamond  agraffe  —  nothing 
more. 

Mrs.  Scott  .suddenly  perceived  that  the  children 
had  taken  entire  possession  of  Jean,  and  ex- 
claimed : 

"Oh!  I  beg  your  pardon.      Harry,  Bella!" 

"  Oh  !  pray  let  them  stay  with  me." 

"  I  am  so  sorry  to  keep  you  waiting  for  dinner; 
my  sister  is  not  down  yet.     Oh,  here  she  is  !  " 

Bcttina  entered.  The  same  dress  of  white 
muslin,  the  same  delicate  mass  of  lace,  tlie  same 
red  roses,  the  same  grace,  the  same  beauty,  and  the 
same  smiling,  amiable,  candid  manner. 

"  How  do  vou  do.  Monsieur  Ic  Cure?  I  am 
delighted  to  see  you.  Have  you  pardoned  my 
dreadful  intrusion   of  tlie   other  day?'" 

Then  turning  toward  Jean  and  offering  him  her 
hand  : 

'*  How  do  vou  do.  Monsieur —  .Monsieur —     Oh  ! 


98  THE  ABB&    CONSTANTIN. 

I  cannot  remember  your  name,  and  yet  we  seem  to 
be  already  old  friends.  Monsieur  —  " 

"  Jean  Reynaud." 

"Jean  Reynaud,  tliat  is  it.  How  do  you  do. 
Monsieur  Reynaud?  I  warn  you  faithfully  that 
when  we  really  are  old  friends  —  that  is  to  say,  in 
about  a  week  —  I  shall  call  you  Monsieur  Jean.  It 
is  a  pretty  name,  Jean."' 

Dinner  was  announced.  Mrs.  Scott  took  the  Cure's 
arm  ;  Bettina  took  Jean's.  I'p  to  the  moment  when 
Bettina  appeared  Jean  had  said  to  himself,  "  Mrs. 
Scott  is  the  prettier  I  '"  When  lie  felt  Bettina's  little 
hand  slip  into  his  arm,  and  when  she  turned  towards 
him  her  delicious  face,  he  said,  "  Miss  Percival  is 
the  prettier  I  " 

But  his  perplexities  gathered  round  him  again 
when  he  was  seated  between  the  two  sisters.  If  he 
looked  to  the  right,  love  threatened  liim  from  that 
direction,  and  if  he  looked  to  tlie  left,  tlie  danger 
removed  immediately,   and  pas.sed  to  the  left. 

Conversation  began,  easy,  animated,  contidential. 
The  two  sisters  were  charmed;  they  had  already 
walked  in  tlie  park :  they  promised  themselves  a 
long  ride  in  the  forest  to-morrow.  Riding  was  their 
delight,  their  passion.  It  was  also  Jean's  passion, 
so  that  after  a  quarter  of  an  liour  they  begged  him 
to  join  them'  tlie  ne.xt  (la\-.  He  gladly  accepted. 
There  was  no  one  who  knew  the  country  round 
better  than  lie  did  :  it  was  iiis  native  j^lace.  He 
would  be  so  liappy  to  do  the  honors  of  it,  and  to 
show  them  numbers  of  delightful  little  spots  which, 
without    him,   they  would   never   discover. 


THE  ABB&    CONSTANTTN.  99 

"  Do  you  ride  every  day?  "  asked  Bettina. 

"Every  day,  and  sometimes  twice.  In  the  morn- 
ing I  am  on  duty,  and  in  tlie  evening  I  ride  for  my 
own  pleasure/' 

"  Early  in  the  morning?" 

"  At  half-past  five." 

"  At  half-past  five  every  nTorning?" 

"Yes,  except  Sunday." 

"  Then  you  get  up  —  " 

"  At  half-past  four.'' 

"  And  is  it  light?" 

"Oh  I  just  now,  broad  daylight." 

"To  get  up  at  half-past  four  is  admirable;  we 
often  finish  our  day  just  when  yours  is  beginning. 
And  are  fond  of  your  profession  ?  " 

"Very.  It  is  an  excellent  thing  to  have  one's 
life  plain  before  one,  with  exact  and  definite 
duties." 

"And  yet,"  said  Mrs.  Scott,  "not  to  be  one's 
own  master  —  to  be  always  obliged  to  obev  I  " 

"That  is  perhaps  what  suits  me  best;  there  is 
nothing  easier  than  to  obey,  and  then  to  learn  to 
obey  is  the  only  way  of  learning  to  command." 

"  Ah  I  since  you  say  so,  it  must  be  true."' 

"  Yes,  no  douI)t,"  added  the  Cure  ;  "  Init  he  does 
not  tell  you  that  lie  is  the  most  distinguished  otificer 
in  his  regiment,  that  — " 

"  Oh  I  pray  do  not." 

The  Cure,  in  spite  of  Jean's  resistance,  was  about 
to  launch  into  a  panegyric  on  his  godson,  when 
Bettina,   interposing,  said : 

"  It  is  unnecessary.  Monsieur  le  Cur6,  do  not  say 


TOO  THE  ABB&    CONSTAXTIN. 

anything,  we  know  already  all  that  you  would  tell  us, 
we  have  been  so  indiscreet  as  to  make  in(]uiries 
about  Monsieur  —  Oh  !  I  was  just  going  to  say 
Monsieur  Jean  —  about  Monsieur  Reynaud.  Well, 
the   information  we  received   was  excellent  ! " 

"  1  am  curious  to  know,"  said  Jean. 

•'Nothing!  nothing!  you  sliall  know  nothing. 
I  do  not  wisli  to  make  you  blush,  and  you  would 
be  obliged  to  l)lush." 

Tlien  turning  towards  the  Cur6,  "  And  about  you, 
too.  Monsieur  rAbl)6.  we  have  had  some  informa- 
tion.     It  appears  that  you  are  a  saint." 

"  Oh  !  as  to  tliat,  it  is  perfectly  true,"  cried 
Jean. 

It  was  the  Cure  this  time  who  cut  short  the  elo- 
quence of  Jean.  Dinner  was  almost  over.  The 
old  priest  had  not  got  through  this  dinner  without 
experiencing  many  emotions.  Tliey  had  repeatedly 
presented  to  him  complicated  and  scientific  construc- 
tions upon  wliicli  lie  liacl  only  ventured  with  a 
trembling  hand.  He  was  afraid  of  seeing  the  whole 
crumble  beneath  his  touch  ;  the  trembling  castles  of 
jelly,  the  pyramids  of  truffles,  the  fortresses  of 
cream,  the  liastions  of  pastry,  the  rocks  of  ice. 
Otherwise  the  Abbe  Constantin  dined  witli  an  ex- 
cellent api)etite.  and  did  not  recoil  before  two  or 
three  glasses  of  champagne.  He  was  no  foe  to 
good  cheer ;  perfection  is  not  of  this  world ;  and 
if  gormandizing  were,  as  they  say,  a  cardinal  sin, 
how  many  good  priests  would  be  damned  ! 

Coffee  was  served  on  the  terrace  in  honl  of  the 
house;     in  tlie  distance  was   heard   the  harsh   voice 


THE  ABB^    COXSTANTLV.  lOl 

of  the  old  village  clock  striking  nine.  Woods  and 
fields  were  slumbering ;  the  avenues  in  the  park 
sliowcd  only  as  long,  luululating,  and  undecided 
lines.  The  moon  slowly  rose  over  the  tops  of  the 
great  trees. 

Bettina  took  a  bo.x  of  cigars  from  the  talile. 

"  Do  you  smoke? "'  said  she. 

"Yes,  Miss  Percival.'" 

"  Take  one,  Monsieur  Jean.  It  can't  l)e  helped, 
I  have  said  it.  Take  one  —  but  no,  listen  to  me 
first."' 

And  speaking  in  a  low  voice  while  offering  him 
the  box  of  cigars  — 

'•  It  is  getting  dark,  now  you  may  blush  at  your 
ease.  I  will  tell  you  what  I  did  not  say  at  dinner. 
An  old  lawyer  in  Souvigny,  who  was  your  guardian, 
came  to  see  my  sister  in  Paris  about  the  payment 
for  the  place  ;  he  told  us  what  you  did  after  your 
father's  death,  when  you  were  only  a  child, — what 
you  did  for  that  poor  mother,  and  for  that  poor 
young  girl.  Both  my  sister  and  I  were  much  touched 
by  it." 

"  Yes,"  continued  Mrs.  Scott,  "and  that  is  why 
we  have  received  you  to-day  witli  so  much  pleasure. 
We  should  not  have  given  such  a  reception  to  every 
one,  of  that  you  may  be  sure.  Well,  now  take  your 
cigar,  my  sister  is  waiting." 

Jean  could  not  find  a  word  in  reply.  Bettina 
stood  there  with  the  bo.x  of  cigars  in  her  two  hands, 
her  eyes  fixed  frankly  on  Jean's  countenance.  At 
the  moment  she  tasted  a  true  and  keen  pleasure 
which    may   be  expressed    by   this   phrase  : 

UNIVERSITY  UK  CAUrUKNiA 
AANTA  JiAUfiARA  COLLKiU  UBRAl^ 


102  THE  ABB&    CONSTANTIN. 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  I  see  before  me  a  man  of 
honor." 

"  And  now,"  said  Mrs.  Scott,  "  let  us  sit  here  and 
enjoy  this  dehcious  night ;  take  your  coffee,  smoke  "  — 

"  And  do  not  let  us  talk.  Suzie,  do  not  let  us 
talk.  This  great  silence  of  the  country,  after  the 
great  noise  and  bustle  of  Paris,  is  delightful  I  Let  us 
sit  here  without  speaking ;  let  us  look  at  the  sky,  the 
moon,  and  the  stars." 

All  four,  with  much  pleasure,  carried  out  this  little 
program.  Suzie  and  Bettina,  calm,  reposeful,  abso- 
lutely separated  from  their  existence  of  yesterday, 
already  felt  a  tenderness  for  the  place  which  liad 
just  received  them,  and  was  going  to  keep  them. 
Jean  was  less  tranquil ;  Miss  Percival's  words  had 
caused  him  profound  emotion,  his  heart  had  not  yet 
quite  regained  its  regular  tlu'ol). 

But  the  happiest  of  all  was  t^ic  Abbe  Constantin. 
Tliis  Httle  episode  wliich  had  caused  Jean's  modesty 
such  a  rude,  yet  sweet  trial,  had  brought  him  ex- 
quisite joy,  the  Abb6  bore  his  godson  such  alTection. 
The  most  tender  father  never  loved  more  warmly  the 
dearest  of  his  children.  When  the  old  Cure  looked 
at  the  young  officer  he  often  said  to  Jiimself : 

"  Heaven  has  been  too  kind  ;  1  am  a  priest,  and  I 
have  a  son  I  " 

The  Abbe  sank  into  a  very  agreeable  revery ;  he 
felt  himself  at  home,  he  felt  liimself  too  much  at 
home ;  by  degrees  his  ideas  became  hazy  and  con- 
fused, revery  became  drowsiness,  drowsiness  be- 
came slumber,  tlie  disaster  was  soon  complete, 
irreparable ;    the   Cure   slept,   and   slept   profoundly. 


THE  ABB&    COXSTAXriN.  103 

This  marvellous  dinner,  and  the  two  or  three  glasses 
of  champagne,  may  have  had  something  to  do  with 
the  catastrophe. 

Jean  perceived  nothing :  he  had  forgotten  the 
promise  made  to  his  godfather.  And  why  had  he 
forgotten  it?  Because  Airs.  Scott  and  Miss  Percival 
had  thought  proper  to  put  their  feet  on  the  foot- 
stools, placed  in  front  of  their  wicker  garden-chairs 
filled  with  cushions  ;  then  they  had  thrown  themselves 
lazily  back  in  their  chairs,  and  their  muslin  skirts  had 
become  raised  a  little,  a  very  little,  but  yet  enough  to 
display  four  little  feet,  the  lines  of  which  showed 
very  distinctly  and  clearly  beneath  two  pretty  clouds 
of  white  lace.  Jean  looked  at  these  little  feet,  and 
asked  himself  tliis  question  : 

"  Which  are  the  smaller?  " 

While  he  was  trying  to  solve  this  problem,  Bet- 
tina  all  at  once  said  to  him  in  a  low  voice  : 

"  Monsieur  Jean  !     Monsieur  Jean  !  " 

"  Miss  Percival  I  '" 

"  Look  at  the  Cure  ;   he  is  asleep." 

"  Oh  !  it  is  my  fault." 

"How  your  fault?"  asked  Mrs.  Scott,  also  in  a 
low  voice. 

"  Yes;  my  godfather  rises  at  daybreak,  and  goes 
to  bed  very  early ;  he  told  me  to  be  sure  and  pre- 
vent his  falling  asleep  ;  when  Madame  de  Longueval 
was  here,  he  very  often  had  a  nap  after  dinner.  You 
have  sliown  him  so  mucli  kindness  that  he  has 
fallen  back  into  his  old  habits." 

"And  he  is  perfectly  right,"  said  Bettina ;  "do 
not  make  a  noise,  do  not  wake  him." 


I04.  THE  ABBI^    CONSTAMTIN. 

"  You  are  too  good,  Miss  Percival,  but  the  air  is 
getting  a  little  fresh." 

"Ah!  that  is  true,  he  might  catcli  cold.  Sta}', 
I  will  go  and  fetch  a  wrap  for  him."' 

"  I  think,  Miss  Percival,  it  would  be  better  to 
try  and  wake  him  skilfully,  so  tliat  he  should  not 
suspect  that  you  had  seen  him  asleep." 

"Let  me  do  it,"  said  Bettina.  "  Suzie,  let  us 
sing  together,  very  softlv  at  first,  then  we  will  raise 
our  voices  little  l)y  little  ;  let  us  sing." 

"  Willingly  ;  but  what  shall  we  sing  ?  " 

"  Let  us  sing  '  (2uelque  chose  d'enfantin,'  the 
words  are  appropriate." 

Suzie  and  Bettina  began  to  sing: 

If  I  had  l)iit  two  little  wings, 
And  were  a  little  feathery  bird. 

Their  sweet  and  penetrating  voices  had  an  exquisite 
sonority  in  that  i)rofound  silence.  The  Abb^  heard 
notiiing,  did  not  move.  Ciiarmed  with  this  little 
concert,  Jean  said   to   himsclt  : 

"  Heaven  grant  that  my  godfatlier  may  not  wake 
too  soon  !  " 

The  voices  became  clearer  and  louder: 

But  in  niy  sleep  to  you  I   fly, 

I  'ni  always  with  you  in   my  sleep. 

Yet  the  Abb6  did  not  stir. 

"  How  he  sleeps!  "  said  Suzie  ;  "  it  is  a  crime  to 
wake  him." 


THE  ABRA    CONSTANTIN.  \0<, 

"  But  we  must;   louder,  Suzie,  louder." 
Suzie  and  Bettina    both  gave    free  scope  to    the 
power  of  their  voices. 

Sleep  stays  not,  though  a  monarch    liids, 
So  I  love  to  wake  ere  hreak  of  day. 

The  Cur6  woke  with  a  start.  After  a  short  mo- 
ment of  anxiety  he  breathed  again.  Evidently  no 
one  had  noticed  that  he  had  been  asleep.  He  col- 
lected himself,  stretched  himself  prudently,  slowly  — 
he  was  saved  ! 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  later  the  two  sisters  accom- 
panied the  Cur6  and  Jean  to  the  little  gate  of  the 
park,  which  opened  into  tlie  village  a  few  rods 
from  the  vicarage  ;  they  liad  nearly  reached  the  gate 
when  Bettina  said  all  at  once  to  Jean  : 

"  Ah  !  all  this  time  I  have  had  a  question  to  ask 
you.  Tliis  morning  when  we  arrived,  we  met  on  the 
way  a  slight  young  man,  with  a  fair  mustache,  he 
was  riding  a  ]:)lack  horse,  and  bowed  to  us  as  we 
pa.ssed." 

"It  was  Paul  de  Lavardens,  one  of  my  friends; 
he  has  already  had  the  honor  of  being  introduced 
to  you,  but  rather  vaguely,  and  his  ambition  is  to 
be  presented  again." 

"Well,  you  shall  bring  liim  one  of  these  days," 
said  Mrs.   Scott. 

"After  the  twenty-hftli  !  "  cried  Bettina.  "Not 
before  !  not  before  !  No  one  till  then  ;  till  then  we 
will  see  no  one  but  you.  Monsieur  Jean.  But  you,  — 
it  is  very  extraordinary,  and  I  don't  quite  know  how 


Io6  THE  ABB  A    CONSTANTLY. 

it  has  happened,  \ou  do  n"t  seem  anybody  to  us. 
The  compliment  is  perhaps  not  very  well  turned, 
])ut  do  not  make  a  mistake,  it  is  a  compliment.  I 
intended  to  be  excessively  amiable  in  speaking  to 
you  thus." 

'•  And  so  you  are,  Miss  Percival." 

"  So  much  the  better  if  I  have  been  so  fortunate 
as  to  make  myself  understood.  Cood-by,  .Mon- 
sieur Jean  —  till   to-morrow  I  " 

Mrs.  Scott  and  Miss  I'ercival  returned  slowly 
towards  the  castle. 

"  And  now,  Suzie,"  said  liettina,  "  scold  me  well, 
—  I  expect  it,  I  have  deserved  it." 

"Scold  you!     Why?" 

"You  are  going  to  say,  I  am  sure,  that  I  have 
been  too  familiar  with  that  young  man." 

"  No,  I  shall  not  .say  that.  P'rom  the  first  day 
that  young  man  has  made  the  most  f;ivoral)le  im- 
pression upon  me  ;  he  inspires  me  with  perfect  con- 
fidence." 

"  And  so  he  does  me." 

"  I  am  persuaded  that  it  would  l)e  well  for  us 
both  to  try  to  make  a  friend  of  him." 

"With  all  my  heart,  as  far  as  I  am  concerned,  so 
much  the  more  as  I  have  seen  many  young  men 
since  we  have  lived  in  France.  Oh,  yes,  I  have, 
indeed!  Well,  this  is  the  tirsl,  positively  the  lirst, 
in  whose  eyes  I  have  not  clearlx'  read,  'Oh  how 
glad  I  should  be  to  marrv  that  little  body's  millions!" 
That  was  written  in  tiie  eyes  of  all  the  others,  but 
not  in  his  eyes.  Now,  here  we  are  at  home  again. 
(Jood-nighl,  Suzie  —  lo-morrow." 


Mrs.  Scott  and  heu  Ciulukkn.     (Opposiiu  page  loo.j 


THE  ABB&    CONSTANTIhL 


107 


Mrs.  Scott  went  to  see  and  kiss  her  sleeping 
children. 

Bettina  remained  long,  leaning  on  the  balustrade 
of  her  balcony. 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  said  she,  "  that  I  am  going 
to  be  very  fond  of  this  place." 


CHAPTER    VII. 


The  next  morning,  on  returning  from  drill.  Je.in 
found  Paul  de  Lavardens  waiting  for  him  at  the  bar- 
racks ;  he  scarcely  allowed  him  time  to  dismoimt.  and 
the  moment  he  had  him  alone  — 

"  Quick,"  said  he,  "describe  your  dinner-party  of 
yesterday.  I  saw  them  myself  in  the  morning ;  the 
little  one  was  driving  four  ponies,  and  with  an 
amount  of  audacity.  I  bowed  to  them;  did  you 
mention  me?  Did  they  recognize  me?  When  will 
you  take  me  to  Longueval?     Answer  me." 

"  Answer?  yes.      lUit  which  (luestion  first?"' 

"  The  last."' 

"When  will  I  take  you  to  Longueval?" 

"  Yes." 

loS 


THE  ABB  A    CONSTANTIN.  109 

"  Well,  in  ten  days;  they  do  n't  want  to  see  any 
one  just  now." 

"Then  you  are  not  going  back  to  Longueval  for 
ten  days  ? " 

"  Oh  !  I  shall  go  back  to-day  at  four  o'clock. 
But  I  do  n't  count,  you  know.  Jean  Reynaud,  the 
Curb's  godson.  That  is  why  I  have  penetrated  so 
easily  into  the  confidence  of  these  two  charming 
women.  I  liave  presented  myself  under  the  patron- 
age and  with  the  guarantee  of  the  Church.  And 
then  they  have  discovered  that  I  could  render  them 
little  services.  I  know  the  country  very  well,  and 
they  will  make  use  of  me  as  a  guide.  In  a  word,  I 
am  nobody ;  while  you,  Count  Paul  de  Lavardens, 
you  are  somebody ;  so  fear  nothing,  your  turn  will 
come  with  the  fetes  and  balls.  Then  you  will  be  re- 
splendent in  all  your  glory,  and  I  shall  return  very 
humbly  into  my  obscurity." 

"  You  may  laugh  at  me  as  much  as  you  like  ;  it  is 
none  the  less  tnie  that  during  these  ten  days  you 
will  steal  a  marcli  upon  me  —  upon  me  1 " 

"  How  upon  you?" 

"Now,  Jean,  do  you  want  to  make  me  believe 
that  you  are  not  already  in  love  with  one  of  these 
two  women?  Is  it  possible?  Such  beauty,  such 
luxury !  Perhaps  the  luxury  even  more  than  the 
beauty.  Luxury  to  that  degree  upsets  me.  Those 
black  ponies  with  their  white  rosettes  !  I  dreamt  of 
them  last  night,  and  tliat  little  —  Rettina,  is  it  not?" 

"  Yes,  Bettina." 

"  Bettina  —  Countess  Bettina  de  Lavardens  ! 
Doesn't  that  sound  well  enough  ?  and  what  a  perfect 


no  THE  ABB&    CONSTANTIN 

husband  she  would  have  in  nie  !  To  be  the  husband 
of  a  woman  possessing  boundless  wealth,  that  is  my 
destiny.  It  is  not  so  easy  as  one  may  suppose.  One 
must  know  how  to  l^e  rich.  I  have  already  run  through 
something,  and  —  if  my  mother  had  not  stopjjcd  me 
—  but  1  am  quite  ready  to  begin  again.  Oh,  how 
happv  that  girl  would  be  with  me  !  1  would  create 
around  her  tlie  existence  of  a  fairv  (]ueen.  In  all 
her  luxurv  she  would  feel  her  luisband"s  taste,  art, 
and  skill.  I  would  pass  mv  life  in  adoring  her,  in 
displaying  her  beauty,  in  petting  her,  in  bearing  her 
triumphant  through  the  world.  I  would  study  her 
beauty  in  order  to  give  it  the  frame  tliat  best  suited 
it.  '  If  he  were  not  there,'  she  would  sav,  '  I  should 
not  be  so  beautiful,  so  dazzling.'  I  slu)uld  know  not 
only  how  to  love  her,  l)ut  how  to  amuse  her.  She 
would  have  something  for  hei'  money,  —  she  would 
have  love  and  pleasure.  Come,  Jean,  do  a  good 
action,  take  me  to  Mrs.   Scott's  to-day." 

"  I  cannot,  I  assure  you." 

"Well,  then,  in  ten  days;  but  I  give  vou  fair  no- 
tice, I  shall  install  myself  at  Longueval,  and  shall  not 
move.  In  the  first  place,  it  would  please  my  mother; 
she  is  still  a  little  prejudiced  against  these  Ameri- 
cans. She  says  that  she  shall  arrange  not  to  see 
them  ;  but  I  know  my  mother.  Some  day,  when  I  go 
home  in  tlie  evening  and  tell  her:  Mother,  I  have 
won  tlie  heart  of  a  charming  little  person  who  is  bur- 
dened with  a  capital  of  twenty  millions  —  they  exag- 
gerate when  they  talk  of  hundreds  of  millions.  You 
know  these  are  the  correct  figures,  and  tliey  are 
enoutrh    for    me.      That    evenimr,   then,    mv  mother 


THE   ABB&    CONSrA\^TIN.  HI 

will  be  delighted,  because  in  her  heart  what  is  it  she 
desires  for  me?  What  all  good  mothers  desire  for 
their  sons,  —  a  good  marriage,  or  a  discreet  liaisoii, 
with  some  one  in  society.  At  Longueval  I  find  these 
two  essentials,  and  I  will  accommodate  myself  very 
willingly  to  either.  You  will  have  the  kindness  to 
warn  me  in  ten  days  —  you  will  let  me  know  which 
of  the  two  you  aliandon  to  me,  Mrs.  Scott  or  Aliss 
Percival." 

"  \(^^x  are  mad,  you  are  quite  mad  !  I  do  not,  I 
never  shall  think  — " 

"  Listen,  Jean.  You  are  wisdom  personified;  you 
may  say  and  do  as  you  like,  hut  remember  what  I 
say  to  you.  Jean,  you  will  fall  in  love  in  that  house." 

"I  do  not  believe  it,"  replied  Jean,  laughing. 

"  But  I  am  absolutely  sure  of  it.  Good-bv.  I 
leave    you    to   your   duties." 

That  morning  Jean  was  perfectly  sincere.  He 
had  slept  very  well  the  previous  night ;  the  second 
interview  with  the  two  sisters  had,  as  if  by  enchant- 
ment, dissipated  the  slight  trouble  which  had  agi- 
tated his  soul  after  the  first  meeting.  He  prepared 
to  meet  them  again  with  much  pleasure,  but  also 
with  much  tranquillity  ;  there  was  too  much  money  in 
that  house  to  permit  the  love  of  a  poor  devil  like 
Jean  to  find  place  honestly  there. 

Friendship  was  another  affair ;  with  all  his  heart 
he  wished,  and  with  all  his  strength  he  would  seek,  to 
establish  himself  peacefully  in  the  esteem  and  regard 
of  the  sisters.  He  would  try  not  to  remark  too 
much  the  ])eauty  of  Suzie  and  Bettina ;  he  would  try 
not  to  forget   himself   as   he   liad  done  the  previous 


112  THR  ABR&    CONSTANTTN. 

evening,  in  the  contemplation  of  tlie  four  little  feet 
resting  on  their  footstools.  They  had  said,  very 
frankly,  very  cordially,  to  him,  "You  shall  be  our 
friend.""  That  was  all  he  desired  —  to  be  their  friend 
—  and  that  he  would  l)e. 

During  the  ten  days  that  followed,  all  conduced  to 
the  success  of  this  enterprise.  .Suzie,  Rettina.  the 
Cure,  and  Jean  led  the  same  life  in  the  closest  and 
most  cordial  intimacy. 

Jean  did  not  seek  to  analyze  his  feelings.  He  felt 
for  these  two  women  an  equal  affection ;  he  was  per- 
fectly happv,  perfectly  tranquil.  Then  he  was  not 
in  love,  for  love  and  tran(|uillity  seldom  dwell  at 
peace  in  the  same  heart. 

Jean,  however,  with  a  little  anxietv  and  sadness, 
saw  the  day  approach  which  would  bring  to  Longue- 
val  the  Turners  and  the  Nortons  and  the  whole  force 
of  the  .Vmerican  colonv.      The  day  came  too  soon. 

On  Friday,  the  24th  of  June,  at  four  o'clock,  Jean 
arrived  at  the  castle.  IJettina  received  him  alone, 
looking  quite  vexed. 

"  How  annoying  it  is,""  said  she,  "  my  sister  is  not 
well ;  a  little  headache,  nothing  of  con.sequence,  it 
will  l)e  gone  by  tc-morrow,  but  I  dare  not  ride  with 
you  alone.  In  America  I  might,  Init  here  it  would 
not  do,  would  it  ?  "" 

"  Certainly  not,"  replied  Jean. 

"  I  must  send  you  back,  and  I  am  so  sorry." 

"  And  so  am  I  —  I  am  very  sorry  to  be  obliged  to 
go,  and  to  lose  this  last  day,  which  I  had  hoped  to 
pass  with  vou.  However,  since  it  must  be,  I  will 
come  to-morrow  to  intjuire  after  your  sister." 


THE  ABB&    CONSTANTLY.  113 

"  She  will  see  you  herself  to-morrow:  I  repeat,  it 
is  nothing  serious.  But  do  not  run  away  in  such  a 
hurry,  pray ;  \\\\\  you  not  spare  me  a  little  quarter  of 
an  hour's  conversation  ?  I  want  to  speak  to  you ;  sit 
dow^n  there,  and  now  listen  to  me  attentively.  My 
sister  and  I  had  intended  this  evening  after  dinner  to 
blockade  vou  into  a  little  corner  of  the  drawing-room, 
and  then  she  meant  to  tell  you  what  I  am  going  to 
try  to  say  for  us  both.  But  I  am  a  little  nervous. 
Do  not  laugh  ;  it  is  a  very  serious  matter.  We  wish 
to  thank  you  for  having  been,  ever  since  our  arrival 
here,  so  good  to  us  both." 

"Oh!  .Miss  Percival,  pray,  it  is  you  who — " 

"  Oh  !  do  not  interrupt  me,  you  will  quite  confuse 
me.  I  do  not  know  how  to  get  through  with  it.  I 
maintain,  besides,  that  the  thanks  are  due  from  us, 
not  from  you.  We  arrived  here  two  strangers.  We 
have  been  fortunate  enough  to  find  friends  imme- 
diately. Yes,  friends.  You  have  taken  us  by  the 
hand,  you  have  led  us  into  th(;  homes  of  our  farmers, 
of  our  keepers  ;  while  your  godfather  took  us  to  his 
poor  people  —  and  everywhere  you  were  so  much 
beloved,  that  from  their  confidence  in  you,  they 
began,  on  your  recommendation,  to  like  us  a  little. 
You  are  adored  about  here  ;   do  you  know  that  ? "' 

"I  was  born  here  —  all  these  good  peojile  have 
known  me  froni  my  infancw  and  are  grateful  to  me 
for  what  my  grandfather  anti  father  did  for  them  ; 
and  then  I  am  of  their  race,  the  race  of  the  peas- 
ants ;  my  great-grandfather  was  a  farmer  at  Barge- 
court,  a  village  two  miles  from  here." 

"  Oh  !  oh  !  you  api)ear  very  proud  of  that  !  "" 


114  ^'^^^  arbA  constantin. 

"  Neither  ])roud  nor  ashamed." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  you  made  a  little  movement 
of  pride.  Well,  1  can  tell  you  that  my  mother's 
great-grandfather  wa.s  a  farmer  in  Brittany.  He 
went  to  Canada  at  the  end  of  the  last  century,  when 
Canada  belonged  still  to  France.  And  you  love  very 
much  this  region  where  you  were  l)orn  ?  " 

••\'erv  much.  Perhaps  I  shall  soon  be  obliged  to 
leave  it." 

"Why  ?" 

"When  I  get  promotion,  I  shnll  have  to  exchange 
into  another  regiment,  and  1  shall  wander  from 
garrison  to  garrison  ;  but  certainly,  when  1  am  an 
old  commandant  or  old  colonel,  on  half-pay.  I  shall 
come  back,  and  live  and  die  here,  in  the  little  house 
that  was  my  father's." 

"  Always  quite  alone  ? "" 

"  Why  (|uite  alone  ?      I  certainly  hojje  not." 

"  You  intend  to  marry." 

"  Yes,  certainly." 

"  You  are  trying  to  get  married  ?  " 

"  No;  one  may  think  of  marrying,  but  one  ought 
not  to  try  to  marry." 

"  And  yet  there  are  people  who  do  try.  Come,  I 
can  answer  for  that,  and  you,  even  ;  peoi)Ie  have 
wished  to  find  you  a  wife." 

'•  How  do  you  know  that  ?  " 

"  Oh  I  I  know  all  your  little  afiairs  so  well;  you 
are  what  they  call  a  good  match,  and  1  repeat  it, 
they  have  wished  to  find  you  a  wife." 

"  Who  told  you  that  ?  " 

"  Monsieur  le  Cure." 


illt    I'IKSr    Ttl  l-.-A-lE,!  !■. .       ;_()l)l)iisilu    l)a<JC     II4.) 


THE  ABB&    CONSTANTIN.  115 

"  Then  he  was  very  wrong/"  said  Jean,  witli  a 
certain  sliarpness. 

"  No.  no,  he  was  not  wrong."  If  any  one  lias 
been  to  blame  it  is  I.  I  soon  discovered  that  your 
godfather  was  never  so  happy  as  when  he  was  speak- 
ing of  you.  So  when  I  was  alone  with  him  during 
our  walks,  to  please  him.  I  talked  of  you,  and  he 
related  your  history  to  me.  You  are  well  off,  you 
are  verv  well  off;  from  Government  you  receive 
every  month  two  hundred  and  thirteen  francs  and 
some  centimes  ;   am  I   correct  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Jean,  deciding  to  endure  with  a  good 
grace  his  share  in  the  Cure's  indiscretions. 

"  You  have  eight  thousand  francs  income." 

"  Nearly,  not  quite." 

"Add  to  that  vour  house,  which  is  worth  thirty 
thousand  francs.  Moreover,  you  are  in  an  excellent 
position,   and  people  have  asked  for  \-our  hand." 

"  Asked  for  my  hand  !     No,  no." 

"  They  have,  they  have,  twice,  and  you  have 
refused  two  very  good  marriages,  two  very  good 
fortunes,  if  you  prefer  it  —  it  is  the  same  thing  tor 
so  manv  people.  Two  hundred  thousand  francs  in 
the  one  case,  three  hundred  thousand  in  the  other. 
It  appears  that  these  fortunes  are  enormous  for  the 
country  !  Yet  you  have  refused !  Tell  me  why. 
If  you  only  knew  how  eager  I  am  to  know !  " 

"  Well,  it  concerned  two  charming  girls." 

"  That  is  understood.      One  always  says  that." 

"  15ut  whom  I  scarcely  knew.  They  forced  me  — 
for  I  did  resist  —  they  forced  me  to  spend  two  or 
three  evenings   with  them  last  winter," 

"  And  then  ?  " 


ii6 


THE   ABB&    CONSTANT/AT. 


"  Then  — I  don't  quite  know  how  to  explain  it  to 
you.  I  did  not  feel  the  slightest  touch  of  embarrass- 
ment, emotion,  anxiety,  or  disturbance  —  " 

"In  fact,"  said  Bettina,  resolutely,  '•  not  the 
least  suspicion  of  love." 

"No,  not  the  least;  and  I  returned  quite  calmly 
to  my  bachelor  den,  for  1  thin)-:  it  is  better  not  to 
marry  than   to   marrv  without  love." 

"  And  I  think  so  too." 

Slie  looked  at  him,  he  looked  at  lier.  and  sud- 
denly, to  the  great  surprise  of  both,  tiiey  found 
nothing  more  to  say,  —  nothing  at  all. 

At  this  moment  Harry  and  Bella  rushed  into  tlie 
room  with  cries  of  joy. 

"  Monsieur  Jean  !  Are  you  there  ?  Come  and  see 
our  ponies." 

"  ,\h  I  "  said  Bettina,  her  voice  a  little  uncertain, 
"Edwards  has  just  come  back  from  Paris,  and  has 
brought  two  microscopic  ponies  for  the  children. 
Let  us  go  and  see   them,   shall  we  ?  " 

Thev  went  to  see  the  ])onies,  which  were  indeed 
worthv  to  figure  in  the  staljles  of  the  King  of 
Lilliijul. 


"-■'-■^ 


CHAPTER    VIII. 


Three  weeks  have  glided  by ;  another  day  and 
Jean  will  be  obliged  to  leave  with  his  regiment  for 
the  artillery  practice.  He  will  lead  the  life  of  a 
soldier.  Ten  days'  march  on  the  high  road  going 
and  returning,  and  ten  days  in  the  camp  at  Cercottes 
in  the  Forest  of  Orleans.  The  regiment  will  return 
to  Souvigny  on  the  loth  of  August. 

Jean  is  no  longer  tranquil ;  Jean  is  no  longer 
happy.  With  impatience,  and  at  the  same  time  with 
terror,  he  sees  the  moment  of  his  de])arture  approach. 
With  impatience  —  for  he  is  suffering  an  absolute 
martyrdom,  he  longs  to  escape  it;  with  terror  — for 
to  pass  twenty  days  without  seeing  her.  without 
speaking  to  her,  without  her,  in  a  word  —  what  will 
become  of  him?  Her  I  It  is  Bettina ;  he  adores 
her! 

117 


liS  THE  ABBk    CONSTANT/X. 

Since  when?  Since  the  tirst  day,  since  that  meet- 
ing in  the  month  of  May  in  the  Curd's  garden.  That 
is  the  truth  ;  but  Jean  struggles  against  and  resists 
that  truth.  He  believes  that  he  has  only  loved 
Bettina  since  tlie  day  when  the  two  chatted  gayly, 
amicablv.  in  the  little  drawing-room.  She  was  sit- 
ting on  the  blue  couch  near  the  window,  and  while 
talking  amused  lierself  with  repairing  the  disorder 
of  the  dress  of  a  Japanese  princess,  one  of  Bella's 
dolls,  which  had  been  left  on  a  chair,  and  which  Bet- 
tina had  mechanically  taken  up. 

Why  had  the  fancy  come  to  Miss  I'ercival  to  talk 
to  him  of  those  two  young  girls  whom  he  might  have 
married?  The  question  in  itself  was  not  at  all  em- 
barrassing to  him.  He  had  replied  that,  if  he  had 
not  then  felt  any  taste  for  marriage,  it  was  because 
his  interviews  with  these  two  girls  had  not  caused 
him  any  emotion  or  any  agitation.  He  had  smiled 
in  speaking  thus,  but  a  few  minutes  after  he  smiled 
no  more.  This  emotion,  this  agitation,  he  had 
suddenly  learnt  to  know  them.  Jean  did  not  de- 
ceive himself;  he  acknowledged  the  depth  of  the 
wound  ;   it  had  penetrated  to  his  very  heart's  core. 

He,  however,  did  not  abandon  himself  to  this 
emotion.      He  .said  to  himself: 

"  Yes,  it  is  serious,  very  serious,  but  I  shall  re- 
cover from  it." 

He  sought  an  excuse  for  his  madness ;  he  laid 
the  blame  on  circumstances.  For  ten  days  this  de- 
lightful girl  had  been  too  much  with  him,  too  much 
with  him  alone  !  How  could  he  resist  such  a  temp- 
tation?    He   was   intoxicated  with    her  charm,  with 


THE   ABB  A    CONSTANriN.  119 

her  grace  and  beauty.  But  the  next  day  a  troop  of 
visitors  would  arrive  at  Longueval,  and  tliere  would 
be  an  end  of  this  dangerous  intimacy.  He  would 
be  courageous ;  he  would  keep  at  a  distance ;  he 
would  lose  himself  in  the  crowd,  would  see  Bettina 
less  often  and  less  familiarly.  To  see  her  no  more 
was  a  thought  lie  could  not  support  !  He  wished 
to  remain  Bettina"s  friend,  since  he  could  be  nothing 
but  her  friend ;  for  there  was  another  thought  which 
scarcely  entered  liis  mind.  Tliis  thought  did  not 
appear  extravagant  to  him  :  it  appeared  monstrous. 
In  the  whole  world  there  was  not  a  more  honorable 
man  than  Jean,  and  he  felt  for  Bettina's  money 
horror,  positive   horror. 

From  the  251)1  of  June  the  crowd  had  been  in 
possession  of  Longueval.  Mrs.  Norton  arrived  witli 
her  son,  Daniel  Norton,  and  Mrs.  Turner  witli  her 
son,  Philip  Turner.  Both  of  them,  the  young  Philip 
and  the  young  Daniel,  formed  a  part  of  the  famous 
brotherhood  of  the  thirty-four.  They  were  old 
friends,  Bettina  had  treated  them  as  such,  and  had 
declared  to  tliem  witli  perfect  frankness  that  they 
were  losing  their  time.  However,  they  were  not 
discouraged,  and  formed  tlie  centre  of  a  little  court 
which  was  always  very  eager  and  assiduous  around 
Bettina. 

Paul  de  Lavardens  had  made  his  appearance  on 
this  scene,  and  had  very  rapidly  become  everybody's 
friend.  He  had  received  tlie  l)rilliant  and  com- 
plicated education  of  a  young  man  destined  for 
pleasure.  Wliile  it  was  a  question  only  of  amuse- 
ment,   riding,    croquet,    lawn  tennis,   polo,    dancing, 


I30  THE   ABB  A    COXSTANTIN. 

cliarades,  and  theatricals,  he  was  ready  for  every- 
thing, he  excelled  in  everythinij;.  His  superiority 
was  evident,  unquestionable,  i'aul  became  in  short 
time,  by  general  consent,  tlie  director  and  organizer 
of  the  fitcs  at  Longueval. 

Bettina  had  not  a  moment  of  hesitation.  Jean 
introduced  Paul  de  Lavardens,  and  tiie  latter  had 
scarcely  concluded  tlie  customar\-  little  compliment 
when  iVIiss  Percival.  leaning  towards  her  sister, 
whispered  in  her  car : 

"  The  thirty-tifth  !  " 

However,  she  received  Paul  ver\-  kindly,  so  kindly 
that  for  several  da\s  he  had  tlie  weakness  to  mis- 
understand iier.  He  believed  that  it  was  his  personal 
graces  wliich  had  obtained  for  liim  this  very  flatter- 
ing and  cordial  reception.  It  was  a  great  mistake. 
Paul  de  Lavardens  had  been  introduced  by  Jean; 
he  was  Jean's  friend.  In  Bettina"s  e\es  therein  lay 
all  his  merit. 

Mrs.  Scott's  castle  was  open  house  ;  people  were 
not  invited  for  one  evening  oniv.  but  for  every  even- 
ing, and  Paul,  with  enthusiasm,  came  everv  evening, 
liis  dream  was  at  last  realized  ;  he  had  found  Paris 
at  Longueval. 

But  Paul  was  neither  blind  nor  a  fool.  No  doubt 
he  was,  on  Miss  PercivaPs  part,  tlie  object  of  very 
particular  attention  antl  faxor.  It  i)leased  her  to 
talk  long,  very  long,  alone  with  him.  lUil  what  was 
the  eternal,  the  inexhaustible  subject  of  ilair  con- 
versations?    Jean,   again  Jean,  and  alwavs  Jean! 

Paul  was  thoughtless,  dissipated,  frivolous,  but  he 
became   in   earnest  when   Jean  was   in   question;   he 


THE  ABB&    CONSTANTIN.  121 

knew  how  to  appreciate  him,  he  knew  how  to  lo\e 
him.  Nothing  to  liim  was  sweeter,  nothing  was 
easier,  than  to  say  of  tlie  friend  of  his  childhood  all 
the  good  that  he  thought  of  him ;  and  as  he  saw 
that  Bettina  listened  with  great  pleasure,  Paul  gave 
free  rein  to  his  eloquence. 

Only  Paul  wished  one  evening  —  and  lie  was  quite 
right  —  to  rea])  the  benefit  of  his  chivalrous  conduct. 
He  had  just  been  talking  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
with  Bettina.  The  conversation  finished,  lie  went 
to  look  for  Jean  at  the  other  end  of  the  drawing- 
room,   and  said  to  him  : 

"  You  left  the  field  open  to  me.  and  I  have  made 
a  bold  stroke  for  Miss  Percival." 

"Well,  you  have  no  reason  to  be  dissatisfied 
with  the  result  of  the  enterprise.  You  are  tlie  best 
friends  in  the  world." 

"  Yes,  certainly,  pretty  well,  but  not  quite  satis- 
factory. Tliere  is  no  one  more  amiable  or  more 
charming  than  .Miss  Percival,  and  reallv  it  is  very 
good  of  me  to  acknowledge  it,  for,  between  ourselves, 
she  makes  me  play  an  ungrateful  and  ridiculous  part, 
—  a  part  which  is  quite  unsuited  to  my  age.  I  am, 
you  will  admit,  of  the  lover's  age,  and  not  of  that  of 
tlie  confidant." 

"  Of  the  confidant?  " 

"  Yes,  my  dear  fellow,  of  the  confidant!  That  is 
my  occupation  in  this  liouse.  You  were  looking  at 
us  just  now.  Oh  I  I  have  very  good  eves :  you 
were  looking  at  us.  Well,  do  you  know  what  we 
were  talking  about?  Of  you,  my  dear  fellow,  —  of 
vou,    of    nothing    but    vou.       And     it    is    the    same 


123  THE   ABB&    CONSTANTIN. 

thing  every  evenin<;';  tliere  is  no  end  to  the 
questions. 

"  '  You  were  Ijrought  up  together?  You  took 
lessons  together  from  the  Abb6  Constantin?" 

"  '  Will  he  soon  l^e  captain?     And  then? ' 

"  '  Commandant.' 

"  '  And  tlien? ' 

"  '  Colonel,  etc.,  etc.,  etc." 

"  All !  I  can  tell  you,  my  friend  Jean,  if  you  liked, 
you  might  dream  a  very  delicious  dream." 

Jean  was  annoyed,  almost  angry.  Paul  was  much 
astonished  at  this  sudden  attack  of  irrita])ility. 

"  What  is  the  matter?     Have  I  said  anything  — "'' 

"I  hcg  your  pardon;  I  was  wrong.  Rut  how 
could  _\"ou  take  such  an  absurd  idea  into  yoiu"  liead  ?  " 

"Absurd!  1  don't  see  it.  1  have  entertained  tlie 
absurd  idea  on  mv  own  account." 

"  Ah  :  you  —  " 

"Why  'Ah!  me?"  If  I  have  had  it  vou  may 
have  it;   you  are  more  wortiiv  of  it  than  1  am." 

"  Paul,  I  entreat  \ou  !  " 

Jean's  discomfort  was  evident. 

"  We  will  not  speak  of  it  again ;  we  will  not  speak 
of  it  again.  What  I  wanted  to  say,  in  short,  is  that 
Miss  Percival  thinks  me  verv  nice,  very  nice;  but  as 
to  thinking  of  me  seriously,  tiiat  little  person  will 
never  think  of  me  .seriously.  I  must  fall  l)ack  upon 
Mrs.  .Scott,  l)ut  without  much  contidence.  You  see, 
Jean,  I  shall  amuse  myself  in  this  house,  but  I  sliall 
make  nothing  out  of  it." 

Paul  de  Lavardens  did  fdl  back  upon  Mrs.  Scott, 
but  tlie  next  day  was  surprised  to  stumble  ujion  Jean. 


THE   ABB  A    CONSTANTIIV.  1 23 

who  had  taken  to  placing  himself  very  regularly  in 
Mrs.  Scott's  particular  circle,  for  like  Bettina  she  had 
also  her  little  court.  But  what  Jean  sought  there 
was  a  protection,  a  shelter,  a  refuge. 

The  day  of  that  memorable  conversation  on  mar- 
riage without  love,  Bettina  had  also,  for  the  tirst 
time,  felt  suddenly  awake  in  her  that  necessity  of 
loving  which  sleeps,  but  not  very  profoundly,  in  the 
hearts  of  all  young  girls.  The  sensation  had  been 
the  same,  at  the  same  moment,  in  Bettina's  soul  and 
in  Jean's.  He,  terrified,  had  cast  it  violently  from 
him.  She,  on  the  contrary,  had  yielded  in  all  the 
simplicity  of  her  perfect  innocence  to  this  flood  of 
emotion  and  of  tenderness. 

She  had  waited  for  love.  Could  this  be  love? 
The  man  who  was  to  be  her  thought,  her  life,  her 
soul  —  could  this  be  he  —  this  Jean  ?  Why  not  ? 
She  knew  him  better  than  she  knew  all  those  who 
during  the  past  year  had  haunted  her  for  her  fortune, 
and  in  what  she  knew  of  him  there  was  nothing  to 
discourage  the  love  of  a  good  girl.     Far  from  it ! 

Both  of  them  did  well ;  both  of  them  were  in  the 
way  of  duty  and  of  truth,  —  she  in  yielding,  he  in  re- 
sisting;  she  in  not  thinking  for  a  moment  of  Jean's 
obscurity,  of  his  comparative  poverty ;  he  in  recoiling 
before  her  mountain  of  wealth  as  he  would  have  re- 
coiled before  a  crime ;  she  in  thinking  that  she  had 
no  right  to  parley  with  love  ;  he  in  thinking  he  had 
no  right  to  ]jarle\-  with  honor. 

This  is  whv,  in  proportion  as  Bettina  showed  her- 
self more  tender,  and  abandoned  herself  with  more 
frankness  to  the  first  call   of  love  —  this  is  why  Jean 


134  THE  ARB&    CONSTANTIN. 

became  day  b)-  day  more  gloomy  and  more  restless. 
He  was  not  only  afraid  of  loving :  he  was  afraid  of 
being  loved. 

He  ought  to  have  remained  away ;  he  should  not 
have  come  near  her.  He  had  tried  :  he  could  not ; 
the  temptation  was  too  strong ;  it  carried  him  away ; 
so  he  came.  She  would  come  to  him,  her  hands  ex- 
tended, a  smile  on  her  lips,  and  her  heart  in  her 
eyes.      Everything  in  her  said  : 

"  Let  us  try  to  love  each  otlier,  and  if  we  can  we 
will  love ! " 

Fear  seized  him.  Those  two  hands  wliich  offered 
themselves  to  the  pressure  of  his  hands,  he  scarcely 
dared  to  touch.  He  tried  to  escape  those  eyes 
wliicli,  tender  and  smiling,  anxious  and  curious,  tried 
to  meet  his  eyes.  He  trembled  before  the  necessity 
of  speaking  to  Bettina,  before  the  necessity  of  listen- 
ing to  her. 

Then  Jean  took  refuge  with  Mrs.  Scott,  and  tlirn 
Mrs.  Scott  caught  those  uncertain,  agitated,  troubled 
words  which  were  not  addressed  to  her,  and  which 
she  took  for  herself  nevertheless.  She  could  hardly 
have   failed  to  be  mistaken. 

For  of  these  still  vague  and  confused  sentiments 
which  agitated  her  Bettina  iiad  as  yet  said  nothing. 
She  guarded  and  caressed  the  secret  of  her  budding 
love  as  a  miser  guards  and  caresses  the  first  coins 
of  his  treasure.  The  da\-  when  she  should  see 
clearly  into  her  own  heart,  tlie  day  that  slie  should 
be  .sure  that  she  loved  —  ah  !  she  would  speak  that 
day,  and  how  happy  she  should  be  to  tell  all  to 
Suzie  ! 


THE  ABB&    CONSTANTIN.  125 

Mrs.  Scott  had  ended  by  regarding  herself  as  the 
cause  of  Jean's  melancholy,  which  day  by  day  took  a 
more  marked  character.  She  was  flattered  by  it  — 
a  woman  is  never  displeased  at  thinking  herself 
beloved  —  she  was  flattered  and  vexed  at  tlie  same 
time.  She  held  Jean  in  great  esteem,  in  great  affec- 
tion, but  she  was  distressed  at  tlie  tliought  that  if  he 
were  sad  and  unhappy,   it  was  because  of  lier. 

Suzie  was,  besides,  conscious  of  her  own  inno- 
cence. With  others  slie  had  sometimes  been 
coquettish,  very  coquettisli.  To  torment  them  a 
little,  was  that  such  a  great  crime?  They  had 
nothing  to  do,  they  were  good-for-nothing,  it  occu- 
pied them  while  it  amused  her.  It  helped  them  to 
pass  their  time,  and  it  helped  her  too.  But  Suzie 
had  not  to  reproach  herself  for  lia\ing  flirted  with 
Jean.  She  recognized  his  merit  and  liis  superioritv : 
he  was  worth  more  than  the  others  ;  he  was  a  man  to 
suffer  seriously,  and  that  was  what  Mrs.  Scott  did 
not  wish.  Already  two  or  three  times  she  had  been 
on  the  point  of  speaking  to  him  very  seriously,  very 
affectionately,  but  she  had  reflected  Jean  was  going 
away  for  three  weeks  :  on  Iiis  return,  if  it  were  still 
necessary,  slie  would  read  Iiim  a  lecture,  and  would 
act  in  such  a  manner  that  love  sliould  not  come 
foolishly  to  interfere  in  their  friendship. 

.So  Jean  was  to  go  the  ne.xt  day.  Bettina  had 
insisted  that  he  should  spend  this  last  day  at  Lon- 
gueval,  and  dine  at  the  chateau.  Jean  had  refused, 
alleging  that  lie  had  much  to  do  the  night  before  his 
departure. 

He  arrived  in  the  evening,  about  lialf-past  ten  ;   he 


126  THE   ABB/i    CONSTANTLY. 

came  on  fool.  Several  times  on  the  wav  he  had 
I)een  inclined  to  return. 

"  If  I  had  courage  enougli,"  he  said  to  himself, 
"I  would  not  see  her  again.  I  shall  leave  to-mor- 
row, and  return  no  more  to  Souvignv  while  she  is 
there.     My  resolution  is  taken,  and  taken  forever.'' 

But  he  continued  on  his  way ;  he  would  see  her 
again  —  for  the  last  time. 

As  soon  as  he  entered  tlie  (h-awing-room,  Bettina 
hastened  to  him. 

"  Here  you  are  at  last !     How  late  you  are  I  " 

"  I  have  been  very  busy." 

' '  And  you  are  going  to-moirow ?  " 

"Yes,  to-morrow." 

"Early?" 

"  At  five  in  the  morning." 

"  You  will  go  by  the  road  wliich  runs  by  tlie  park 
wall,  and  goes  through  the  village.''  " 

"  Yes,  that  is  the  way  we  shall  go." 

"Why  so  earlv  in  the  morning?  I  would  have 
gone  out  on  the  terrace  to  see  you  pass  and  to  wish 
you  good-by." 

Bettina  detained  for  a  moment  Jean's  burning  hand 
in  hers.      He  drew  it  mournfully  away,  with  an  effort. 

"  I  must  go  and  speak  to  your  sister,"  said  lie. 

"  Directly.  .  .  .  she  has  not  seen  you.  .  .  .  there 
are  a  do/en  ]jeople  round  lier.  Come  and  sit  here 
a  little  while,  near  me." 

He  was  obliged  to  seat  himself  beside  her. 

"  We  are  going  away  too,"  said  siie. 

' '  You  are  !  " 

"  Yes.      An  hour  ago,  we  received  a  telegram  from 


THE  ABB  A    CONSTANTIM.  127 

my  Ijrother-in-law,  wliicli  lias  caused  us  great  jo\'. 
We  did  not  expect  him  for  a  month,  but  he  is  coming 
Ijack  in  a  fortnight.  He  will  embark  the  day  after 
to-morrow  at  New  York,  on  board  the  Labrador. 
We  are  going  to  meet  him  at  Havre.  We  shall  also 
start  the  day  after  to-morrow.  We  are  going  to  take 
the  children ;  it  will  do  them  a  great  deal  of  good  to 
spend  a  few  days  at  the  seaside.  How  pleased  my 
brother-in-law  will  be  to  know  \ou  —  do  I  say  '  know 
vou"?  he  knows  you  already  :  we  have  spoken  of  you 
in  all  our  letters.  I  am  sure  you  and  Mr.  Scott  will 
get  on  extremely  well  together,  he  is  so  good.  How 
long  will  you  stay  away?  "' 

"  Three  weeks."' 

"  Three  weeks  in  a  camp? '" 

"  Yes,  Miss  Percival,  in  the  camp  of  Cercottes." 

"  In  the  middle  of  the  forest  of  Orleans.  I  made 
your  godfather  explain  all  about  it  to  me  this  morn- 
ing. Of  course  I  am  delighted  to  go  to  meet  my 
brother-in-law,  but  at  tlie  same  time  I  am  a  little 
sorry  to  leave  here,  for  I  would  ha\"e  gone  every 
morning  to  pav  a  little  visit  to  Monsieur  I'Abbe.  He 
would  have  given  me  news  of  _\ou.  Perhaps,  in 
about  ten  davs.  vou  will  write  to  mv  sister,  —  a  little 
note  of  three  or  four  lines,  —  it  will  not  take  much 
of  your  time — just  to  tell  her  how  you  are,  and  that 
you  do  not  forget  us." 

"Oh!  as  to  forgetting  you,  as  to  losing  the  re- 
membrance of  your  extreme  kindness,  your  good- 
ness, never.   Miss  Percival,   never  ! "' 

His  voice  trembled,  he  was  afraid  of  his  own  emo- 
tion ;   he  rose. 


138  THE  ABB  A    CONSTANTTN. 

"  I  assure  you,  Miss  Percival,  I  must  go  and  speak 
to  your  sister.  She  is  looking  at  me.  She  must  be 
astonished." 

He  crossed  tlie  room  ;  Bettina  followed  him  with 
her  eyes. 

Mrs.  Norton  had  just  placed  herself  at  the  piano 
to  play  a  waltz  for  the  young  people. 

Paul  de  Lavardens  approached  Miss  Percival. 

"Will  you  do  me  the  honor,  Miss  Percival?  " 

"  I  believe  I  have  just  promised  this  dance  to 
Monsieur  Jean,"  she  replied. 

"  Well,  if  not  to  him,  will  you  give  it  to  me?" 

"  That  is  understood." 

Bettina  walked  towards  Jean,  who  had  seated 
himself  near  Mrs.    Scott. 

"  I  have  just  told  a  dreadful  story,"  said  she. 
"  Monsieur  de  Lavardens  has  asked  me  for  this 
dance,  and  I  replied  that  1  liad  promised  it  to 
you.      You  would  like  it,   wouldn't  you?" 

To  hold  her  in  his  arms,  to  l)reathe  the  perfume 
of  her  hair  —  Jean  felt  his  courage  could  not  support 
this  oi'deal,  he  d.ircd  not  accept. 

"  I  regret  extremely  I  cannot.  I  am  not  well 
to-night.  I  persisted  in  coming  because  I  would  not 
leave  without  wishing  you  good-by ;  ])ut  dance  I  no, 
it  is  impossible  I  " 

Mrs.  Norton  began  the  prelude  of  the  waltz. 

"  Well."  said  Paul,  coming  up  c|uite  joyful,  "  who 
is  it  to  be,  he  or  1  ?  " 

"  You,"  she  said  sadlv,  without  removing  her  eyes 
from  Jean. 

She     was     much    disturbed,    and    replied    without 


It  is  kaining!"     (Opposite  page  12S.; 


THE  ABB&    CONSTAA'TIiV.  129 

knowing  well  what  she  said.  She  immediately  re- 
gretted having  accepted ;  she  would  have  liked  to 
stay  there,  near  him.  But  it  was  too  late,  Paul 
took  her  hand  and  led  her  away. 

Jean  rose ;  he  looked  at  the  two,  Bettina  and 
Paul.  -A.  haze  floated  before  his  eyes,  he  suftered 
cruelly. 

"There  is  onlv  one  thing  I  can  do,"  thought  he, 
—  •'  profit  l^y  this  waltz,  and  go.  To-morrow  I  wmII 
write  a  few  lines    to   Mrs.    Scott  to  excuse  myself." 

He  reached  the  door,  he  looked  no  more  at  Bet- 
tina; had  he  looked,  he  would  have  stayed. 

But  Bettina  looked  at  him  ;  and  all  at  once  she 
said  to  Paul : 

"Thank  you  very  much,  but  I  am  a  little  tired: 
let  us  stop,  please.  You  will  excuse  me,  will  you 
not?" 

Paul  offered  his  arm. 

"  No,  thank  you,"  said  .she. 

The  door  was  just  closing,  Jean  was  no  longer 
there.  Bettina  ran  across  the  room.  Paul  remained 
alone,  much  surprised,  understanding  nothing  of 
what  had  passed. 

Jean  was  alreadv  at  the  hall  door,  when  he  heard 
some  one  call :   "  Monsieur  Jean  !  Monsieur  Jean  !  " 

He  stopped  and  turned.      She  was  near  him. 

"  You  are  going  without  wishing  me  good-by?  " 

"  I  beg  )our  pardon,  I  am  very  tired." 

"  Then  you  must  not  walk  Ikmiic,  the  weather  is 
threatening,"  —  she  put  her  hand  out  of  doors  —  "  it 
is  raining  alread}." 

"  Oh,  not  much." 


130  rilE  ABB  A    CONSTANTLY. 

"  Come  and  liavc  a  cup  of  tea  with  me  in  tlie  little 
drawing-room,  and  I  will  tell  them  to  drive  you  home  :  "' 
and  turning  towards  one  of  the  footmen,  ••  I  lave  them 
send  a  carriage  round  directly." 

"No,  iMiss  Percival,  pray,  the  oi)en  air  will  revive 
me.      I  must  walk  :    let  me  go." 

"  Go,  then,  but  vou  have  no  great-coat ;  lake  some- 
thing to  wrap  yourself  in." 

"I  shall  not  be  cold  —  while  you  with  that  open 
dre.ss.  I  shall  go,  to  oblige  you  to  go  in."  .Xnd 
without  even  offering  his  hand,  he  ran  (|uickl\-  down 
the  steps. 

"If  1  touch  her  hand,"  he  thought,  "I  am  lost; 
mv  secret  will  escape   me." 

His  secret  I  He  did  not  know  that  Hettina  read 
his  heart  like  an  open  book. 

When  Jean  had  descended  the  steps,  he  hesitated 
one  short  moment ;  these  words  were  upon  iiis  lips  : 

"  I  love  you,  I  adore  you,  and  that  is  why  I  will 
see  you  no  more  !  " 

But  he  did  not  utter  these  words,  he  tied  away  and 
was  soon  lost  in  the  darkness. 

Jkttina  remained  there  against  the  brilliant  back- 
ground made  by  the  light  from  the  hall.  Great 
drops  of  rain  driven  by  the  wind  swept  across  her 
bare  shoulders  and  made  her  shiver ;  she  took  no 
notice,    she   distinctly   heard   her  heart    beat. 

"  I  knew  verv  well  that  he  loved  me,"  she  thought, 
"but  now  I  am  very  sure  that  I  too  —  oh  I  yes!  I 
too !  —  " 

All  at  once  in  one  of  the  great  mirrors  in  the  hall 
door  she  saw  the  reffection  of  the  two  footmen  who 


THE   ABR&    COySTANTTN.  13 1 

stood  there  motionless,  near  the  oak  table  in  tliehall. 
She  took  several  steps  toward  the  drawing-room. 
She  heard  bursts  of  laughter  and  the  strains  of  the 
waltz;  she  stopped.  She  wished  to  be  alone,  com- 
pletely alone,  and  addressing  one  of  the  servants  she 
said  : 

"  Go  and  tell  your  mistress  tliat  I  am  verv  tired, 
and  have  gone  to  my  own  room." 

Annie,  her  maid,  had  fallen  asleep  in  an  easy-chair. 
She  sent  her  away.  She  would  undress  herself.  She 
let  herself  sink  on  a  couch  ;  she  was  oppressed  with 
delicious  emotion. 

The  door  of  her  room  opened  ;    it  was  Mrs.   Scott. 

"  You  are  not  well,  Bettina?  " 

"  Oh  !  Suzie,  is  it  you,  my  Suzie?  how  nice  of  you 
to  come.     Sit  here,  close  to  me,  quite  close  to  me." 

She  hid  herself  like  a  child  in  her  sister's  arms, 
caressing  witli  lier  burning  brow  Suzie's  fresh  shoul- 
ders. Then  she  suddenly  burst  into  sobs,  great  sobs, 
which  stifled,  suffocated  her. 

"  liettina,  my  darling,  what  is  the  matter?  " 

"  Nothing,  nothing!  it  is  my  nerves  ...  it  is  joy 
—  joy ! '" 

"joy?" 

"  Yes,  yes,  wait  —  let  ne  cry  a  little,  it  will  do  me 
so  much  good.  I)Ut  do  not  be  friglitened,  do  not  be 
frightened." 

Beneath  her  sister's  caress,  Bettina  grew  calm, 
soothed. 

"  It  is  over.  I  am  better  now,  and  I  can  talk  to  you. 
It  is  about  Jean." 

"  Jean  !     You  call  him  Jean?  "^ 


133  THE   ABB  A    CONSTANTIN. 

"Yes,  I  call  him  Jean.  Have  you  not  noticed  for 
some  time  that  he  was  dull  and  looked  (juite  melan- 
choly? " 

"  Yes,  I  have." 

"Whenever  he  came,  he  would  go  and  post  him- 
self near  you,  and  stay  there,  silent,  absorbed,  to  such 
a  degree,  that  for  several  days  I  asked  myself  —  par- 
don me  for  speaking  to  \ou  with  such  frankness,  it  is 
mv  wav,  \'ou  know  —  I  asked  myself  if  it  were  not 
you  whom  he  loved,  Su/ic  ;  you  are  so  cliarming,  it 
would  have  been  so  natural.  l!ut  no,  it  was  not 
you,  it  was  I! "' 

"You!" 

"Yes,  I.  Listen,  he  scarcely  dared  to  look  at 
me,  he  avoided  me,  he  Hed  from  me,  he  was  afraid 
of  me,  evidently  afraid.  Now,  in  justice,  am  I  a 
person  to  in.spire  fear?      I   am  sure   I   am   not!" 

"  Certainly  not !  " 

"Ah!  it  was  not  1  of  whom  he  was  afraid,  it  was 
my  mone}',  mv  horriil  money!  This  money  wliich 
attracts  all  the  others  and  tempts  them  so  much,  this 
money  terrifies  him.  drives  him  desjjerate  because  he 
is  not  like  the  others,  because  he  —  " 

"My  child,  take  care,  perhaps  you  are  mistaken." 

"Oh!  no,  I  am  not  mistaken.  Just  now,  at  the 
door,  when  he  was  going  away  he  said  some  words 
to  me.  These  words  were  nothing.  But  if  you  had 
seen  his  distress  in  spite  of  all  his  efforts  to  control 
it!  Suzie,  dear  Su/.ie,  by  the  affection  which  I  bear 
you,  and  God  knows  how  great  is  that  affection,  this 
is  my  conviction,  my  absolute  conviction,  —  if  instead 
of  being  Miss  Percival  1  had  been  a  poor  young  girl 


THE  ABB&    CO.VSTAN'TLV.  133 

without  a  penny,  Jean  would  tlien  have  taken  mv  liand, 
and  have  told  me  that  he  loved  me  :  and  if  he  had 
spoken  to  me  thus,  do  vou  know  what  I  should  have 
replied  ?  " 

"  That  you  loved  him  too?  " 

"  Yes  ;  and  that  is  why  I  am  so  happy.  With  me 
it  is  a  fixed  idea  that  I  must  adore  the  man  who  will 
be  my  husband.  Well,  I  don't  sav  that  I  adore 
Jean  ;  no,  not  yet.  but  still  it  is  beginning,  Suzie,  and 
it  is  beginning  so  sweetly  ! " 

"  Bettina,  it  really  makes  me  uneasy  to  see  you  in 
this  state  of  excitement.  I  do  not  deny  that  Mon- 
sieur Reynaud  is  much  attached  to  \ ou  — "" 

"  Oh  !  more  than  that,  more  than  that  I  " 

"  Loves  you,  if  you  like;  yes,  you  are  right,  you 
are  quite  right.  He  loves  you ;  and  are  you  not 
worthy,  my  darling,  of  all  the. love  that  one  can  bear 
you?  As  to  Jean  — it  is  progressing  decidedly  ;  here 
am  I  also  calling  him  Jean  —  well,  you  know  what  I 
think  of  him.  1  rank  him  \er\',  very  high.  But  in 
spite  of  that,  is  he  reallv  a  suitable  husband  for  you?  "' 

"  Yes,  if  I  love  him." 

"  I  am  tr}'ing  to  talk  sensibly  to  you,  and  you,  on 
the  contrary  —  Understand  me.  Bettina  ;  I  have  an 
experience  of  the  world  which  you  cannot  have. 
Since  our  arrival  in  Paris  we  have  been  launched  into 
a  verv  brilliant.  \'er\'  animated,  very  aristocratic 
society.  You  might  have  been  already,  if  you  had 
liked,  a  marchioness  or  a  i^rincess." 

"  Yes,  but  I  did  not  like." 

"  It  would  not  matter  to  you  to  be  called  Madame 
Kevnaud  ?  " 


134  THE  ABB&    CO.VSTAIVTLY. 

"  Not  in  tlie  least,  it"  I  love  him." 

"  Ah  I  you  return  always  to  —  " 

"  Because  that  is  the  true  question.  There  is  no 
other.  Now  I  will  be  sensible  in  my  turn.  This 
question  —  I  grant  that  this  is  not  quite  settled,  and 
that  I  have,  perhaps,  allowed  myself  to  be  too  easily 
persuaded.  You  see  how  sensible  I  am.  Jean  is 
going  away  to-morrow.  I  shall  not  see  him  again  for 
three  weeks.  During  these  three  weeks  I  shall  have 
ample  time  to  question  myself,  to  examine  myself,  in 
a  word,  to  know  my  own  mind.  Under  my  giddy 
manner,  I  am  serious  and  thoughtful,  you  know 
that  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  yes,  I  know  it."' 

"  Well,  I  will  make  this  petition  to  you,  as  I 
would  have  addressed  it  to  our  motiier  had  she  been 
here.  If  in  three  weeks  I  sav  to  vou,  '  Suzie,  I  am 
certain  that  I  love  him,"  will  you  allow  me  to  go  to 
him  myself,  quite  alone,  and  ask  him  if  he  will  have 
me  for  liis  wife?  That  is  what  xou  did  with  Richard. 
Tell  me,  Su/.ie,  will  vou  allow  me?  '" 

"  Yes,  I  will  allow  vou." 

IJettina  cml)raced  her  sister,  and  murmured  these 
words  in  her  ear  : 

"  Thank  you,  mamma." 

"  Mamma,  mamma!  So  vou  used  to  call  me  when 
you  were  a  child  :  when  we  were  alone  in  the  world 
together;  when  1  used  to  undress  \i)u  in  our  ])oor  room 
in  New  \'()rk  ;  when  I  held  \()U  in  niv  arms;  wlien  1 
laid  you  in  your  little  l)ed  ;  when  1  sang  }ou  to  sleep. 
And  since  then,  Bettina,  I  have  had  only  one  desire  in 
the  world, — your  ha])i)iness.      That  is  why  I  beg  you 


Bkttina's  Uoo.m.     (Opposite  page  134.) 


THE  ABB&    CONSTANTTN.  1 35 

to  reflect  well.  Do  not  answer  me  ;  do  not  let  us  talk 
any  more  of  that.  1  wish  to  leave  you  very  calm, 
very  tranquil.  Vou  hue  sent  away  Annie,  would  you 
like  me  to  be  your  little  mamma  again  to-night,  to 
undress  you,  and  put  you  to  bed  as  I  used  to  do? "' 

"  Yes,  I  should  like  it  verv  much."' 

"  And  when  you  are  in  bed,  you  promise  me  to  be 
very  good  ? " 

"  As  good  as  an  angel." 

"  You  will  do  your  best  to  go  to  sleep? "' 

"  My  very  best." 

"Very  quietly,  without  thinking  of  anything?" 

"Very  quietlv,  witliout  thinking  ol"  anything." 

"  Very  well,  then." 

Ten  minutes  later,  Bettina's  prettv  liead  rested 
gently  amidst  embroideries  and  lace.  -Suzie  said  to 
her  sister : 

"  I  am  going  down  to  those  people,  who  bore  me 
dreadfully  this  evening.  Before  going  to  my  own 
room,  I  shall  come  back  and  see  if  you  are  asleep. 
Do  not  speak.      i\o  to  sleep." 

She  went  away.  Bettina  remained  alone ;  she 
tried  to  keep  her  word ;  she  endeavored  to  go  to 
.sleep,  but  only  half-succeeded.  She  fell  into  a  half- 
slumber,  which  left  her  floating  between  dream  and 
reality.  She  liad  promised  to  think  of  nothing,  and 
yet  slie  thought  of  him,  always  of  him,  of  nolln'ng 
but  liim.  vaguely,  confusedly. 

How  long  a  time  passed  tlnis  she  could  not 
tell. 

All  at  once  it  seemed  to  her  that  some  one  was 
walking  in  iier  room  ;   she   half-opened   lier  e\es,  and 


136  THE   ABB&    CONSTANTIN. 

thought  she  recognized  her  sister.  In  a  ver\-  sleepy 
voice  she  said  to  her : 

"  \'ou  know  I  love  him." 

"  Hush  !     (Jo  to  sleep." 

' '  I  am  asleej)  I     I  am  asleep  I '' 

At  last  she  really  fell  asleep,  but  slept  less  pro- 
foundly than  usual,  for  about  four  o'clock  in  the 
morning  she  was  .suddenlv  awoke  by  a  noise,  wliich 
the  night  before  would  not  have  disturbed  her  slum- 
ber. The  rain  was  falling  in  torrents,  and  l)eating 
against  her  window. 

"Oh,  it  is  raining !"' she  thought;  ••he  will  get 
wet !  " 

That  was  her  first  thought.  She  rose,  crossed  the 
room  barefooted,  half-opened  the  siiutters.  The  day 
had  broke,  grav  and  lowering :  the  clouds  were 
heavv  witli  rain,  the  wind  blew  tempestuously,  and 
drove  the  rain  in  gusts  before  it. 

Bettina  did  not  go  back  to  bed,  she  telt  it  would 
be  quite  impossible  to  sleep  again.  Slie  piU  on  a 
dressing-gown,  and  remained  at  the  window;  she 
watched  the  falling  rain.  Since  lie  positively  must 
go,  she  would  liave  liked  the  weatiier  to  be  line;  she 
would  lia\e  liked  briglU  sunshine  to  cheer  his  fu'st 
day's  march. 

When  she  came  to  Longueval  a  month  ago,  IJet- 
tina  did  not  know  what  niic  itapc  or  day"s  march 
meant.  But  she  knew  now.  A  day's  march  for  the 
artillery  is  twenty  or  thirty  miles,  with  an  hour's  halt 
for  luncheon.  The  Abbe  Constantin  had  taught  her 
that  ;  wlien  going  their  rounds  in  the  morning  among 
the  poor,  Bettina  overwhelmed   the  Cuie   with  (|ues- 


THE   ABRfi    COXSTAXTLV.  1^7 

tions  about  military  atiairs,  and  particularly  alxnit  the 
artillery  service. 

Twenty  or  thirtv  miles  under  this  pouring  rain  ! 
Poor  Jean  I  liettina  thou^dit  of  young  Turner, 
voung  Norton,  of  I'aul  de  Lavardens,  who  would 
sleep  calmlv  till  ten  in  the  morning,  while  Jean  was 
exposed  to  this  deluge. 

Paul  de  Lavardens ! 

Thi.?  name  awoke  in  her  a  painful  memory,  the 
memory  of  that  waltz  the  evening  before.  To  have 
danced  like  that,  while  Jean  was  so  obviously  in 
distress  I  That  wait/,  took  the  proportions  ot  a  crime 
in  her  eves ;  it  was  a  horrible  thing  that  she  had 
done. 

And  then,  had  she  not  been  wanting  in  courage 
and  frankness  in  that  last  interview  with  Jean?  He 
neither  could  nor  dared  say  anything ;  but  she 
might  ha\'e  shown  more  tenderness,  more  expansive- 
ness.  Sad  and  suffering  as  he  was,  she  should  never 
have  allowed  Iiini  to  go  buck  on  foot.  She  ought  to 
have  detained  him  at  any  price.  Her  imagination 
tormented  and  excited  her;  Jean  must  have  carried 
away  with  him  the  impression  that  she  was  a  bad 
little  creature,  heartless  and  pitiless.  And  in  half 
an  hour  he  was  going  awav,  —  awa_\'  for  three  weeks. 
Ah!  if  she  could  bv  any  means — but  there  is  a 
way  I  The  regiment  is  to  pass  along  by  the  park 
wall  below  the  terrace. 

Bettina  was  seized  with  a  wild  desire  to  see  Jean 
pass;  he  would  understand  well,  if  he  saw  her  at 
such  an  hour,  that  she  had  come  to  beg  his  pardon 
for    her   cruelty  of  the   previous  evening.      Yes,   she 


13S  THE  ADBli,    CONST  AN  TIN. 

would  go  I  But  she  had  promised  Suzie  that  she 
would  be  as  good  as  an  angel,  and  to  do  what  she 
was  going  to  do,  was  that  being  as  good  as  an  angel? 
She  would  make  up  for  it  by  acknowledging  all  to  Suzie 
when  she  came  in  again,  and  Suzie  would  forgive  her. 

She  would  go  !  She  had  made  up  her  mind.  Only 
how  should  she  dress  ?  She  had  nothing  at  hand 
but  a  jjall  dress,  a  muslin  dressing-gown,  little  high- 
heeled  slippers,  and  blue  satin  shoes.  She  might 
wake  her  maid.  Oh  !  never  would  she  dare  to  do 
that,  and  time  pressing ;  a  quarter  to  ti\'e  !  the  regi- 
ment would  start  at  five  o'clock. 

She  might,  perhajxs,  manage  with  the  muslin  dress- 
ing gown  and  the  satin  slippers :  in  the  liall  she 
might  find  her  hat,  her  little  ])oots  whicli  she  wore 
in  the  garden,  and  the  large  tartan  cloak  for  driving 
in  wet  weather.  .She  half-opened  her  door  with 
infinite  precautions.  Everything  was  asleep  in  the 
house ;  she  crept  along  the  corridor,  she  descended 
the  staircase. 

If  onlv  the  little  boots  are  there  in  their  place; 
that  is  her  great  anxietv.  There  the\-  are  I  She 
.slips  them  on  over  her  satin  shoes,  she  wraps  herself 
in  the  great  mantle. 

She  hears  that  tlie  rain  has  redoubled  in  violence. 
She  notices  one  of  those  large  umbrellas  which  the 
footmen  use  on  the  box  in  wet  weather;  she  seizes 
it ;  she  is  ready ;  but  when  she  is  ready  to  go  she 
sees  that  the  hall  door  is  fastened  by  a  great  iron 
bar.  She  tries  to  rai.se  it;  but  the  bolt  holds  f;ist, 
resists  all  her  efforts,  and  the  great  clock  in  the  hall 
slowly  strikes  five.      He  is  starting  at  that  moment. 


Uain  and  Wind.     (Opposite  page  13S.) 


THE  ABB  A   COy^STANTlN.  139 

She  will  see  him  !  she  will  see  him  !  Her  will  is 
excited  b_\'  these  obstacles.  She  makes  a  great  effort ; 
the  bar  yields,  slips  back  in  the  groove.  But  Bettina 
has  made  a  long  scratch  on  her  hand,  from  which 
issues  a  slender  stream  of  blood.  Bettina  twists  her 
handkerchief  round  her  hand,  takes  her  great  um- 
brella, turns  the  key  in  the  lock,  and  opens  the 
door. 

At  last  she  is  out  of  the  house  ! 

The  weather  is  frightful.  The  wind  and  the  rain 
rage  together.  It  takes  five  or  six  minutes  to  reach 
the  terrace  which  looks  over  the  road.  Bettina  darts 
forward  courageously :  her  head  bent,  hidden  under 
her  immense  vmibrella.  She  has  already  taken  a  few 
steps  when  all  at  once,  furious,  mad,  blinding,  a  squall 
bursts  upon  Bettina,  blows  open  her  mantle,  drives 
her  along,  lifts  her  almost  from  the  ground,  turns 
the  umbrella  violently  inside  out ;  that  is  nothing, 
the  disaster  is   not  yet  complete. 

Bettina  has  lost  one  of  her  little  boots  :  they  were 
not  practical  sabots,  they  were  onlv  prettv  little 
things  for  fine  weather;  and  at  this  moment,  when 
Bettina  is  desperately  struggling  against  the  tempest 
with  her  blue  satin  shoe  half  buried  in  the  wet  gravel, 
at  this  moment  the  wind  bears  to  her  the  distant  echo 
of  a  trumpet-call.      It  is  the  regiment  starting. 

Bettina  makes  a  desperate  effort,  abandons  her 
umbrella,  finds  her  little  boot,  fastens  it  on  as  well 
as  she  can,  and  starts  ofi"  running  with  a  deluge  de- 
scending on   her  head. 

At  last  she  is  in  the  wood  ;  the  trees  protect  her 
a   little.      Another  call,    nearer    this    time.      Bettina 


140  THE  ABB&   CONSTANTIN. 

fancies  she  hears  the  rolHng  of  tlie  gun-carriages.  Slie 
malves  a  last  effort :  here  is  the  terrace,  slie  is  there 
just   in  time. 

Twenty  yards  off  she  perceived  the  white  horses 
of  the  trumpeters,  and  along  the  road  she  caught 
glimpses  of  the  long  line  of  guns  and  wagons  vaguely 
rolling  through  the  fog. 

She  sheltered  herself  under  one  of  the  old  limes 
which  bordered  the  terrace.  She  watched,  she 
waited.  He  is  there  among  that  confused  mass  of 
riders.  Will  she  be  able  to  recognize  him?  And 
he,  will  he  see  her?  Will  any  chance  make  him 
turn   his   head  that  way? 

Bettina  knows  that  he  is  lieutenant  in  tiic  second 
battery  of  his  regiment ;  she  knows  tliat  a  battery  is 
composed  of  six  guns  and  six  ammunition  wagons. 
Of  course  the  Al)l)e  Constantin  taught  her  that. 
Thus  she  must  allow  the  first  battery  to  pass,  that 
is  to  sav,  count  six  guns,  si.x  wagons,  and  then  — 
he    will    be    tlu're. 

There  he  is  at  last,  wrapped  in  his  great  cloak, 
and  it  is  he  who  sees,  who  recognizes  her  first.  A 
few  moments  before  he  had  been  recalling  to  his  mind 
a  long  walk  which  he  had  taken  with  her  one  evening 
on  that  terrace,  when  night  was  falling.  He  raised 
his  eyes,  and  the  very  spot  where  he  rememliered 
having  seen  her,  was  the  spot  where  he  fnmd  her 
again.  He  bowed,  and,  bare-headed  in  the  rain, 
turning  round  in  his  saddle,  as  long  as  he  could  see 
her  he  looked  at  her.  He  .said  again  to  himself 
what  he  had  said  the  previous  evening : 

"  It  is  for  the  last  time." 


THE  ARRf:   CONSTANTIN. 


141 


Witli  a  charming  gesture  of  botli  liands  she  re- 
turned liis  farewell,  and  tliis  gesture,  repeated  many 
times,  brought  her  hands  so  near,  so  near  her  lijjs, 
that  one  might  have  fancied  — 

"Ah!"  she  thought,  "if  after  that  he  does  not 
understand  that  I  love  him,  and  does  not  forgive  me 
my  money." 


CHAPTER    IX. 


It  is  tilt'  tLMith  of  Aim'ust,  tlie  dav  whicli  is  to 
ljrin<(  Jean   l)ack   to   Loiii;ueval. 

Bettina  \vai<cs  very  early,  rises,  and  runs  immedi- 
ately to  the  window.  The  evening  before  tlie  sky 
liad  looked  threatening,  heavy  with  clouds.  Bettina 
slept  l)ut  little,  and  all  night  prayed  that  it  might 
not  lain   tlie  next  dav. 

In  the  earlv  morning  a  dense  fog  envelops  the 
jKirk  of  Longueval,  the  trees  of  which  are  hidden 
from  view  as  by  a  curtain.  But  gradually  the  rays 
of  the  sun  dissipate  the  mist,  the  trees  become 
vaguely  discernible  through  the  vapor ;  then,  sud- 
denly, the  sun  shines  out  brilliantly.  Hooding  with 
light  the  park,  and  the  fields  beyond ;   and  the  lake 


Will  it  he  Fine?     (Opposite  pajrc  142.) 


THE   ABB&    CONSTANTIN.  143 

where  the  black  swans  are  disporting  themselves  in 
the  radiant  light,  appears  as  bright  as  a  sheet  of 
polished  metal. 

The  weather  is  going  to  be  beautiful.  Bettina  is 
a  little  superstitious.  The  sunshine  gives  her  good 
hope  and  good  courage.  "  The  day  begins  well,  so 
it  will  finish  well."' 

Mr.  Scott  had  come  some  days  before.  Suzie, 
Ikttina,  and  the  children  were  waiting  on  the  quay 
at  Havre,  for  the  arrival  of  his  steamer. 

They  exchanged  many  tender  embraces,  then 
Richard,  addressing  his  sister-in-law,  says  laugh- 
ingly : 

"  Well,  when  is  the  wedding  to  be?" 

"What  wedding?" 

"  Yours." 

"  My  wedding?  " 

"  Yes,  certainly." 

"  And  to  whom  am  I  going  to  be  married?  " 

"  To  Monsieur  Jean  Reynaud." 

"  Ah  !     Suzie  has  written  to  j'ou?  " 

"  Suzie?  Not  at  all.  Suzie  has  not  said  a  word. 
It  was  you,  Bettina,  who  wrote  to  me.  For  the  last 
two  months,  all  your  letters  have  been  occupied  with 
this  young  officer." 

' '  All  my  letters  ?  " 

"Yes;  and  vou  have  written  to  me  oftener  and 
more  at  length  than  usual.  1  do  not  complain  of 
that,  but  I  do  ask  when  you  are  going  to  present  me 
with  a  brother-in-law." 

He  speaks  jestingly,  but  Bettina  replies : 

"  Soon,  I  hope." 


144  ^^^^   ABB  A    CONSTANTIN. 

Mr.  Scott  perceives  that  tlie  affair  is  serious.  When 
returning  in  tlie  carriage,  Bettina  asks  Mr.  Scott  if 
he  has  kept  her  letters. 

"  Certainly,"  he  replies. 

She  reads  them  again.  It  is  indeed  only  with 
"Jean"  that  all  these  letters  have  been  filled.  She 
finds  therein  related,  down  to  the  most  trifling  de- 
tails, their  first  meeting.  There  is  the  portrait  of 
Jean  in  the  vicarage  garden,  with  his  straw  hat  and 
his  earthenware  salad-dish  —  and  then  it  is  again 
Monsieur  Jean,  always  Monsieur  Jean. 

She  discovers  that  she  has  loved  him  much  longer 
than  she  had  suspected. 

Now  it  is  the  tenth  of  August.  Luncheon  is  just 
over,  and  Harry  and  liella  arc  impatient.  Tliey  know 
that  between  one  and  two  o'clock  the  regiment  must 
go  through  the  village.  They  have  been  promised 
that  they  shall  be  taken  to  see  the  soldiers  pass,  and 
for  tliem  as  well  as  for  Bettina  the  return  of  the  9th 
Artillery  is  a  great  event. 

••Aunt  ]>etty,"  .said  Bella,  —  "  .\unt  Betty,  come 
with  us." 

"Yes,  do  come,"  said  Harry,  —  "do  come;  we 
shall  see  our  friend  Jean  on  his  big  gray  horse." 

Bettina  resists,  refu.ses  —  and  yet  how  great  is  the 
temptation. 

But  no,  she  will  not  go,  she  will  not  see  Jean 
again  till  evening,  when  she  will  give  him  tliat 
decisive  explanation  for  which  she  has  been  prepar- 
ing herself  for  the  last  three  weeks. 

The  children  hasten  away  with  their  governesses. 
Bettina,  Suzie,  and   Richard  go  and  sit  in  the  park. 


THE   ABB&    CONSTANTTN.  145 

quite  close  to  the  castle,  and  as  soon  as  they  are 
established  there  — 

"  Suzie,"  says  Bettina,  '*  I  am  going  to  remind  you 
to-day  of  your  promise ;  you  remember  what  passed 
between  us  the  night  of  his  departure  ;  we  settled  that 
if  on  the  day  of  his  return  I  could  say  to  you,  '  Suzie, 
I  am  sure  that  I  love  him/  —  we  settled  that  you 
would  allow  me  to  speak  frankly  to  him,  and  ask  him 
if  he  would  have  me  for  his  wife." 

"Yes,  I  did  promise  you.  But  are  you  very 
sure?  " 

"Absolutely  —  and  now  the  time  has  come  to 
redeem  your  promise.  I  warn  you  that  I  intend  to 
bring  him  to  this  very  place  "  —  she  added,  smiling, 
"  to  this  seat;  and  to  use  almost  the  same  language 
to  him  that  you  formerl\-  used  to  Richard.  You 
were  successful,  Suzie,  you  are  perfectly  happy,  and 
I  —  that   is  what   I   wish   to  l)e."' 

"  Richard,  Suzie  has  told  vou  about  Monsieur 
Reynaud  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  she  has  told  me  that  there  is  no  man 
of  whom  she  has  a  higher  opinion,  but  — "" 

"  l>ut  she  has  told  you  that  for  me  it  would  be  a 
rather  quiet,  rather  commonplace  marriage.  Oh, 
naughty  sister  I  Will  you  believe  it,  Richard,  that 
I  cannot  get  this  fear  out  of  her  head?  She  does 
not  understand  that  before  everything  I  wish  to  love 
and  be  loved ;  will  you  believe  it,  Richard,  that  only 
last  week  she  laid  a  horrible  trap  for  me?  You  know- 
that  there  exists  a  certain  Prince  Romanelli?" 

"  Yes,  1  know  you  might  have  been  a  princess." 

"That   would   not   have   been   immenselv  dilificult, 


146  THE   ABB  A    CO.VSTA.VTLV. 

I  believe.  Well,  one  day  I  was  so  foolish  as  to  say 
to  Suzie,  tliat.  in  extremity,  I  might  accept  the 
Prince  Romanelli.  Now,  just  imagine  what  she  did? 
The  Turners  were  at  Trouville.  Suzie  arranged  a 
little  plot.  We  lunched  with  the  Prince,  hut  the 
result  was  disastrous.  Accept  him  I  The  two  hours 
that  I  passed  with  him  I  ])assed  in  asking  myself  how 
I  could  have  said  such  a  thing.  Xo.  Richard;  no, 
Suzie ;  I  will  l)c  neither  princess,  nor  marchioness, 
nor  countess.  My  wish  is  to  be  Madame  Jean  Ray- 
naud;  if,  however,  M.  Jean  Reynaud  will  agree  to 
it,  and  that  is  by  no  means  certain." 

The  regiment  is  entering  the  village,  and  suddenly 
a  burst  of  music,  martial  and  jovous.  sweeps  across 
the  space.  All  three  remain  silent  :  it  is  the  regi- 
ment ;  it  was  Jean  passing :  the  sound  becomes 
fainter,  dies  away,  and   Bettina  continues: 

"  No,  that  is  not  certain.  He  loves  me,  however, 
and  much,  but  without  knowing  well  what  I  am ;  I 
think  that  1  deserve  to  be  loved  diflerently :  I  think 
that  I  should  not  cause  him  .so  much  terror,  so  much 
fear,  if  he  knew  me  belter,  and  that  is  why  I  ask  you 
to  ])ermit  me  to  speak  to  him  tliis  evening  freely 
from    my   heart." 

"  We  will  allow  you,"  replied  Richard  ;  "  you  shall 
speak  to  him  freely,  for  we  know,  both  of  us,  Bet- 
tina, that  you  will  never  do  anvthing  but  what  is 
noble  and  generous." 

"  At  least  I  will  try." 

The  children  run  up  to  them,  they  have  seen  Jean, 
he  was  quite  white  with  dust,  he  said  good-morning 
to  them. 


TffF.    APBf:    CONSTANTIN.  T47 

"Only,"  ;idds  Bella,  "he  is  not  very  nice,  he 
did  not  stop  to  talk  to  us.  Generally  he  stops,  and 
this  time    he  wouldn't."" 

"Yes,  he  would,"  replies  Harry;  "for  at  first  he 
seemed  as  if  he  were  going  to  —  and  tlien  he  would 
not.      He  went  away." 

"  Well,  he  didn"t  stop,  and  it  is  so  nice  to  talk  to 
a  soldier,  especially  when  he  is  on  horseback.*" 

"It  is  not  that  only,  but  we  are  very  fond  of 
Monsieur  Jean  :  if  you  knew,  papa,  how  kind  he  is, 
and  how  nicely  he  plays  witli  us."" 

"And  what  beautiful  drawings  he  makes.  Harry, 
you  remember  that  great  Pimch  wlio  was  so  funny, 
with  his  stick,  you  know."" 

"And  the  cat,  there  was  the  little  cat  too,  as  in 
the  show."" 

The  two  children  go  away  talking  of  their  friend 
Jean. 

"Decidedly,""  savs  Air.  Scott,  "every  one  likes 
liim   in  this  house."" 

"  .\nd  you  will  be  like  every  one  else  when  you 
know  him,"'  replies   Bettina. 

The  regiment  broke  into  a  trot  along  the  high 
road,  after  leaving  the  village.  There  is  the  terrace 
where  Bettina  had  been  the  other  morning.  Jean 
says    to    himself: 

"  Supposing  she  should  be  there."' 

He  dreads  and  hopes  it  at  the  same  time.  He 
raises  his  head,  he  looks,  she  is  not  there. 

He  has  not  seen  her  again,  he  will  not  see  her 
again,  for  a  long  time  at  least.  He  will  start  that 
very  evening  at  six  o"clf)ck  for  Paris  ;   one  of  the  head 


148  THE  ABB  A    CONSTANTIh\ 

men  in  the  War  Office  is  interested  in  him  ;  lie  will 
try  to  get  exchanged  into  another  regiment. 

Alone  at  Cercottes,  Jean  has  had  time  to  reflect 
deeply,  and  this  is  the  result  of  his  reflections.  He 
cannot,  he  must  not,  l)e  Bettina  PercivaTs  husband. 

The  men  dismount  at  the  barracks,  Jean  takes 
leave  of  his  colonel,  his  comrades:  all  is  over.  He 
is  free,  he  can  go. 

But  he  does  not  go  yet ;  he  looks  around  him.  .  .  . 
How  happy  he  was  three  months  ago,  when  he  rode 
out  of  that  great  yard  amidst  the  noise  of  the  can- 
non rolling  over  the  jiavement  of  Souvigny,  but  how 
sadly  he  would  ride  away  to-day!  Formerlv  his  life 
was   there:    where  would   it   l)e   now? 

He  goes  home,  he  goes  up  to  his  own  room,  he  writes 
to  Mrs.  Scott :  he  tells  her  that  his  duties  oblige  him 
to  leave  immediately;  he  cannot  dine  at  the  castle, 
and  begs  Mrs.  Scott  to  remember  him  to  .Miss  Bettina. 
Ikttina,  ah  I  what  trouble  it  cost  him  to  write  that 
name;   he  closes  his  letter;    he  will  send  it  directly. 

He  makes  liis  preparations  for  departure ;  then  he 
will  go  to  wish  his  godfather  farewell.  That  is 
what  costs  him  most:  he  will  only  speak  to  him  of  a 
short  absence. 

He  opens  one  of  the  drawers  of  his  biu'eau  to  take 
out  some  money.  The  lirst  thing  that  meets  his 
eyes  is  a  little  note  on  bluish  paper,  it  is  the  only 
note  which  he  has  ever  received  from  her. 

"Will  you  have  the  kindness  to  give  to  the  ser- 
vant the  book  of  which  you  s])oke  vesterdav  evening? 
I*erha]js  it  will  be  a  little  heavv  foi-  me,  but  yet  I 
should   like   to    try  to  read   it.       We    shall    see    you 


THE  ABB  A    CONSTANTIN.  149 

to-niglit ;  come  as  early  as  possible."  It  is  signed 
•'  Bettina." 

Jean  reads  and  re-reads  these  few  lines,  but  soon 
he  can  read  them   no  longer,   his  eyes  are  dim. 

"  It  is  all  that  is  left  me  of  her,"  he  thinks. 

At  the  same  moment  the  Abbe  Constantin  is 
holding  conference  with  old  Pauline  ;  they  are  mak- 
ing up  tlieir  accounts.  The  financial  situation  is 
admirable:  more  than  two  thousand  francs  in  hand! 
And  the  wishes  of  Su/.ie  and  Ik'ttina  are  accom- 
plished ;  there  are  no  more  poor  in  the  neighbor- 
hood. His  old  servant,  Pauline,  has  even  occasional 
scruples  of  conscience. 

"  You  see.  Monsieur  le  Curt',"  says  she,  "  perhaps 
we  give  them  a  little  too  much.  Then  it  will  be 
spread  about  in  other  parishes  that  here  they  can 
always  lind  charit\'.  And  do  \-ou  know  what  will 
happen  one  of  these  days  ?  Poor  people  will  come 
and  settle  at  Longueval." 

The  Cure  gives  fifty  francs  to  Pauline.  She  goes 
oft"  to  take  them  to  a  poor  man  who  had  broken  his 
arm  a  few  days  before  bv  falling  from  the  top  ot  a 
hay-cart. 

The  Abbe  Constantin  remains  alone  in  the  vicarage. 
He  is  rather  anxious.  He  has  watched  for  the  pass- 
ing of  the  regiment ;  but  Jean  only  stopped  for  a 
moment;  he  looked  sad.  For  some  time  the  Abbe 
had  noticed  that  Jean  had  no  longer  the  flow  of  good 
humor  and  gayety  he  once  possessed. 

The  Cur6  had  not  disturbed  himself  too  much  about 
it,  believing  it  to  be  one  of  those  little  youthful 
troubles  which    did   not  concern   a   poor   old    priest. 


150  THE   ABB&    COXSTANTIN. 

But  on  this  occasion  Jean's  disturbance  was  very 
perceptible. 

"  I  will  conic  baclv  (lirccll\'."  lie  said  to  the  Cure. 
"  I  want  to  speal<   lo  you." 

He  turned  abruptlv  away.  The  Ablie  Constantin 
had  not  even  had  time  to  give  Loulou  his  piece  of 
sugar,  or  rather  his  pieces  of  sugar,  for  he  had  put 
five  or  si.K  in  his  pocket,  considering  that  Loulou  had 
well  deserved  this  feast  by  ten  long  days"  march,  and 
a  score  of  nights  passed  under  the  open  sky. 

Besides,  since  Mrs.  Scott  had  lived  at  Longueval 
Loulou  had  very  often  had  se\eral  pieces  of  sugar; 
the  Abb6  Constantin  had  become  extravagant,  prodi- 
gal ;  he  felt  himself  a  millionaire ;  the  sugar  for 
Loulou  was  one  of  his  follies.  One  day  even  he  had 
been  on  the  point  of  addressing  to  Loulou  his  ever- 
lasting little  speech  : 

"This  comes  from  the  new  mistresses  of  Longue- 
val ;    pray  for  them  to-night."" 

It  was  three  o'clock  wlien  Jean  arrived  at  the 
vicarage,  and  the  Cur6  said  immediately: 

"  You  told  me  that  you  wanted  to  speak  tome; 
what  is  it  about  ? "" 

"  About  something,  mv  dear  godfatlier,  which  will 
surprise  you,  will  grieve  you — - "" 

"  Grieve  me  ! "" 

"  Yes,  and  wliich  grie\es  me  too —  I  ha\'e  come  to 
bid  you  farewell."" 

"  Farewell  I      \'ou  are  going  away  ?  "' 

"  Yes,  I  am  going  away."' 

""When?"" 

"  To-dav,  in  two  hours."" 


THE  ABB&    CONSTANTIN.  151 

*'  In  two  hours  ?  But,  my  dear  boy,  we  were 
going  to  dine  at  the  castle  to-niglit." 

"  I  have  just  written  to  Mrs.  Scott  to  excuse  me. 
I  am  positively  obliged  to  go."' 

"  Directly?  " 

"  Directly."' 

"  And  where  are  you  going?  " 

"  To  Paris."" 

"  To  Paris  !     Why  tins  sudden  determination?  " 

"  Not  so  very  sudden.  I  have  thought  about  it 
for  a  long  time." 

"And  you  have  said  nothing  about  it  to  me! 
Jean,  something  has  happened.  You  are  a  man, 
and  I  have  no  longer  the  right  to  treat  you  as  a  child  ; 
but  3'ou  know  how  much  I  love  \ou ;  if  you  have 
vexations,  troubles,  why  not  tell  them  to  me?  I 
could  perhaps  advise  you.     Jean,  why  go  to  Paris?" 

"  I  did  not  wish  to  tell  you ;  it  will  give  you  pain ; 
but  you  have  the  right  to  know.  I  am  going  to  Paris 
to  ask  to  be  exchanged  into  another  regiment." 

"  Into  another  regiment !     To  leave  Souvigny  !  " 

"  Yes,  that  is  just  it.  1  must  leave  Souvigny  for  a 
short  time,  for  a  little  while  only  ;  but  to  leave  Sou- 
vignv  is  necessary  :  it  is  what  I  wish  above  all  things."' 

"  And  what  about  me,  Jean;  do  you  not  think  of 
me?  A  little  while  !  A  little  while  !  But  that  is  all 
that  remains  to  me  of  life.  — a  little  while.  And  dur- 
ing these  last  days,  that  I  owe  to  the  grace  of  God, 
it  was  my  happiness,  yes,  Jean,  my  happiness,  to 
feel  you  here,  near  me,  and  now  you  are  going 
away  I  Jean,  wait  a  little  patiently,  it  cannot  be  for 
very  lomr  now.      Wait  until  the  irood  God  has  called 


152  TriF.    ABB  A    CO-VSTANrnV. 

me  to  Himself;  wait  till  I  shall  be  gone,  to  meet 
there,  at  His  side,  your  father  and  your  mother.  Do 
not  go,  Jean,  do  not  go  I " 

"  If  you  ]o\e  me,  I  love  you  too,  and  \-ou  know  it 
well."" 

"  Yes,  I  know  it." 

"  I  have  just  the  same  affection  for  you  now  that  I 
had  when  1  was  quite  little,  wiien  you  took  me  to 
yourself,  when  }ou  ])rought  me  up.  My  heart  has 
not  changed,  will  never  change.  lUit  if  duty  —  if 
honor — o])lige  me  to  go?  " 

"  Ah  I  if  it  is  duty,  if  it  is  honor.  I  say  nothing 
more,  Jean;  that  stands  before  all!  —  all!  —  all!  I 
have  alwavs  known  you  a  good  judge  of  your  duty, 
vour  honor,  do,  my  bov,  go;  I  ask  you  nothing 
more.    1    wish   to  know  no  more."' 

"  Hut  I  wish  to  tell  you  all,""  cried  Jean,  vanquished 
by  his  emotion,  "and  it  is  better  that  you  should 
know  all.  You  will  stay  here,  you  will  return  to  the 
castle,  \ou  will  see  her  again  —  her  ! "' 

' '  See  her  !     Who  ? "' 

' '  Bettina ! "' 

"  15ettina?'" 

"  I  adore  her.  I  adore  her  !  " 

"  Oh,  my  poor  boy  !  "' 

"  Pardon  me  for  speaking  to  you  of  these  things; 
hut  1  tell  you  as  I  would  have  told  my  father.  And 
then,  I  have  not  been  able  to  speak  of  it  to  any 
one,  and  it  stifled  me :  yes,  it  is  a  madness  which 
has  seized  me,  which  has  grown  upon  me  little  by 
little  against  m\  will,  for  you  know  very  well  —  My 
God  !     It    was    here  that    I    began  to  love  her.      You 


THE  ABB  A    CONSTANIVN.  153 

know,  when  she  came  here  with  her  sister  —  the  Httle 
rouleaux  of  a  thousand  francs  —  her  hair  fell  down 
—  and  tlien  the  evening,  the  month  of  Mary.  Then 
I  was  permitted  to  see  her  freely,  familiarl\-,  and  you 
yourself  spoke  to  me  constantly  of  her.  You  praised 
her  sweetness,  her  goodness.  How  often  have  you 
told  me  that  there  was  no  one  in  the  world  better 
than  she  is  !  "" 

"  And  I  thought  so,  and  I  think  so  still.  And  no 
one  here  knows  her  better  than  I  do,  for  I  alone  have 
seen  her  with  the  poor.  If  you  only  knew  how  ten- 
der and  how  good  she  is  !  Neither  wretchedness  nor 
suftering  are  repulsive  to  her.  But,  my  dear  boy,  I 
am  wrong  to  tell  you  all  this." 

"  No,  no,  I  shall  see  her  no  more,  but  I  like  to 
hear  you  speak  of  her." 

"  In  your  whole  life,  Jean,  you  will  never  meet  a 
better  woman,  nor  one  who  has  more  elevated  senti- 
ments. To  such  a  point,  that  one  day — she  had 
taken  me  with  her  in  an  open  carriage,  full  of 
toys  —  she  was  taking  these  toys  to  a  poor  little 
sick  girl,  and  when  she  gave  them  to  her,  to  make 
the  poor  little  thing  laugh,  to  amuse  her,  she  talked 
so  prettily  to  her  that  I  thought  of  you,  and  I  said 
to  myself,  I  remember  it  now,  '  Ah,  if  she  were 
poor ! ' " 

"  Ah,  if  .she  were  poor  !   but  she  is  not." 

"  Oh,  no  !  But  what  can  you  do,  my  poor  boy? 
If  it  gives  you  pain  to  see  her,  to  live  near  her,  above 
all,  if  it  will  prevent  you  suffering  —  go  away,  go  — 
and  yet,  and  yet  —  " 

The  old  priest  became  thoughtful,  let  his  head  fall 


154  THE  ABB  A    CONSTANTLY. 

between  liis  liands,  and  remained  silent  for  some 
moments  ;    tlien  he  continued  : 

"And  yet,  Jean,  do  you  know  what  I  think?  I 
have  seen  a  great  deal  of  Mademoiselle  Bettina  since 
she  came  to  Longueval.  Well  —  when  I  reflect  —  it 
did  not  astonish  me  then  that  any  one  should  be  in- 
terested in  you,  for  it  seemed  so  natural  —  but  she 
talked  always,  yes,  always  of  you." 

"Of  me?"' 

"  Yes,  of  you,  and  of  your  father  and  mother;  she 
was  curious  to  know  how  you  lived.  She  begged  me 
to  explain  to  her  what  a  soldier's  life  was,  the  life  of 
a  true  soldier  who  loved  his  profession,  and  performed 
his  duties  conscientiously.  .  .  .  it  is  extraordinary, 
since  you  have  told  me  this,  recollections  crowd  upon 
me,  a  thousand  little  things  collect  and  group  them- 
selves together.  .  .  .  She  returned  from  Havre  day 
before  vesterdav  at  three  o'clock.  Well,  an  hour 
after  her  arrival  she  was  here.  And  it  was  of  you 
of  whom  she  sj^oke  directly.  She  asked  if  you  had 
written  to  me,  if  you  had  not  been  ill,  when  you 
would  arrive,  at  what  hour,  if  the  regiment  would 
pass   through   the  village." 

"  It  is  useless  at  this  nioment.  my  dear  godfather," 
said  Jean,  ■•  to  recall  all  these  memories." 

"  No,  it  is  not  useless.  .  .  .  She  seemed  so 
pleased,  so  happy  even,  at  the  thought  of  seeing  you 
again !  She  would  make  quite  a  fite  of  the  din- 
ner this  evening.  She  would  introduce  you  to  her 
brother-in-law,  who  has  come  back.  There  is  no  one 
else  at  the  chateau  at  this  moment,  not  a  single 
visitor.      She  insisted  strongly  on  this  point,  and  I 


THE  ABB&    CONS  TAN  TIN.  155 

remember  l\er  last  words  —  she  was  tlierc,  on  the 
threshold   of  the   door  — 

"  'There  will  onlv  be  five  of  us,'  she  said,  'you 
and  Monsieur  Jean,  my  sister,  my  brother-in-law, 
and  myself.' 

"And  then  she  added,  laughini;.  '  Quite  a  family 
party." 

"  With  these  words  she  went,  she  almost  ran 
away.  Quite  a  family  party  !  Do  you  know  what 
I   think,   Jean?      Do  you  know?" 

"  Vou  must  not  think  that,   you  must  not." 

"Jean,   I  believe  that  she  loves  you!" 

"  And  I  believe  it  too." 

"  You  too  ! "' 

"  When  I  left  her,  three  weeks  ago,  she  was  so 
agitated,  so  moved  I  She  saw  me  sad  and  unhappy, 
she  would  not  let  me  go.  It  was  at  the  door  of  the 
chateau.  I  was  obliged  to  tear  myself,  yes,  literally 
tear  myself,  away.  1  should  have  spoken,  burst  out, 
told  her  all.  After  having  gone  a  few  steps  I  stopped 
and  turned.  She  could  no  longer  see  me,  I  was  lost 
in  the  darkness ;  but  I  could  see  her.  She  stood 
there  motionless,  her  shoulders  and  arms  bare,  in 
the  rain,  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  wa\'  by  which  I  had 
gone.  Perhaps  I  am  mad  to  think  that.  Perhaps 
it  was  only  a  feeling  of  pity.  But  no,  it  was  some- 
thing more  than  pity,  for  do  you  know  what  she  did 
the  next  morning?  She  came  at  five  o'clock  in  the 
most  frightful  weather  to  see  me  pass  with  the  regi- 
ment —  and  then  —  the  way  she  bade  me  adieu  — 
oh,  my  friend,  my  dear  old  friend  !  " 

"  But  then,"  said  the  poor  Cur6,   completely  be- 


156  THE  ABB  A    CONSTANTIN. 

wildered,  completely  at  a  loss,  "but  then  I  do  not 
understand  you  at  all.  If  you  love  her,  Jean,  and 
if  she  loves  you." 

"  But  that  is,  alx)ve  all,  tlie  reason  wliy  1  must  go. 
If  it  were  onl\-  me,  if  I  were  certain  that  she  had  not 
perceived  mv  love,  certain  that  she  had  not  been 
touched  l)y  it.  I  would  stay.  1  would  stay  —  for  noth- 
ing but  for  the  sweet  joy  of  seeing  her ;  and  I  would 
love  her  from  afar,  without  any  hope,  for  nothing  but 
the  happiness  of  loving  lier.  But  no,  she  has  under- 
stood too  well,  and  far  from  discouraging  me  —  that 
is  what  forces  me  to  go."' 

"No,  I  do  not  understand  it  I  1  know  well,  mv 
poor  boy,  we  are  speaking  of  things  in  which  1  am 
no  great  scholar,  but  you  are  both  good,  young,  and 
charming;  you  love  her,  she  would  love  you,  and 
you  will  not !  " 

"  And  her  money  I  her  money  I  " 

"What  matters  her  money.  If  it  is  onlv  that,  is 
it  because  of  her  money  that  you  have  loved  her? 
It  is  rather  in  spite  of  her  money.  Your  conscience, 
my  .son,  would  Ije  quite  at  jjcace  with  regard  to  that, 
and  that  would  suffice."' 

"  No,  that  would  not  sullice.  To  ]ia\"e  a  good 
opinion  of  one's  self  is  not  enough ;  that  opinion 
must  be  shared   by  others." 

"  Oh,  Jean  !  Among  all  who  know  vou.  who  can 
doubt  you  ? '' 

"Who  knows?  And  then  there  is  another  thing 
besides  this  question  of  monev,  another  thing  more 
.serious  and  more  grave.  1  am  not  tiie  luisband 
suited  to  her." 


THE  ABB&    CONSTANT/JV.  157 

•'  And  who  could  be  more  worthy  than  you?  '' 

"  The  question  to  be  considered  is  not  my  wortli  ; 
we  have  to  consider  what  she  is  and  wliat  I  am,  to 
ask  what  ouglit  to  be  her  Hfe  and  wliat  ouglit  to  be 
my  Hfe.  .  .  .  One  day,  Paul  —  you  know  he  has 
rather  a  blunt  way  of  saying  things,  but  that  very 
bluntness  often  places  thoughts  much  more  clearly 
before  us  —  we  were  speaking  of  her;  Paul  did  not 
suspect  anything ;  if  he  had,  he  is  good-natured, 
he  would  not  have  spoken  thus  —  well,  he  said  to 
me  : 

"'What  she  needs  is  a  husband  wlu)  would  be 
entirely  devoted  to  her,  to  her  alone ;  a  husband  who 
would  have  no  other  care  than  to  make  her  ex- 
istence a  perpetual  holiday ;  a  husband  who  would 
give  himself,  his  whole  life,  in  return  for  her 
money/ 

"  You  know  me  ;  such  a  husband  I  cannot,  I  must 
not  be.  I  am  a  soldier,  and  will  remain  one.  If 
the  chances  of  my  career  sent  me  some  day  to  a 
garrison  in  the  depths  of  the  Alps,  or  in  some 
almost  unknown  village  in  Algeria,  could  I  ask  her 
to  follow  me?  Could  I  condemn  her  to  the  life  of  a 
soldier's  wife,  which  is  in  some  degree  the  life  of 
a  soldier  himself  ?  Think  of  the  life  which  she  leads 
now,  of  all  that  luxury,  of  all  those  pleasures  ! '' 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Abb^,  "  that  is  more  serious  than 
the  question  of  money." 

"  So  serious  that  there  is  no  hesitation  possible. 
During  the  three  weeks  that  I  passed  alone  in  the 
camp  I  have  well  considered  all  that ;  I  have  thought 
of  nothing   else,   and   loving   her   as  I    do   lo\e,   the 


158  THE  ABB  It    CONSTANTIN. 

reason  must  indeed  be  strong  \vliicli  sliows  me 
clearly  my  dutw  1  must  go.  I  must  go  far,  \ery 
far  away,  as  far  as  possible.  I  shall  suffer  much, 
but  I  must  not  see  her  again  I  1  must  not  see 
her  again  I '" 

Jean  sank  on  a  chair  near  the  fire-place.  He  re- 
mained there  quite  overpowered  with  his  emotion. 
The  old    jjriest  looked   at   him. 

"To  see  you  suffer.  m\'  ])oor  l)()v  I  That  such 
suflfering  should  tall  ujjon  you'  It  is  too  cruel,  too 
unjust  I  " 

At  that  moment  some  one  knocked  gently  at  the 
door. 

"Ah!"  said  the  Curt",  "do  not  ])e  afraid,  Jean. 
I    will   send   them   awav." 

The  Abl)e  went  to  the  door,  opened  it,  and  re- 
coiled as  if  before  an  unexpected  api)ariti()n. 

It  was  Bettina.  In  a  moment  she  had  seen  Jean, 
and  going  direct  to  him  — 

"  You  !  ■'  cried  she.      "Oh.  how  glad  I  am  !  " 

He  rose.  She  took  both  his  hands  in  hers,  and 
addressing  the   Cure,   she  said  : 

"  I  beg  your  pardon.  Monsieur  le  Cur6,  for  going 
to  him  first.  I  saw  }ou  yesterda\-.  but  I  have  not 
seen  him  for  three  whole  weeks,  not  since  a  certain 
nigiit  when  he  left  our  house  sad  and  suffering." 

She  still  held  Jean's  hands.  lie  had  neither 
power  to   make   a  movement   nor   to  utter   a  sound. 

"And  now,"  continued  Bettina,  "are  you  better? 
No,  not  yet,  I  can  see;  still  sad.  Ah.  1  have  done 
well  to  come!  It  was  an  insjiiiatioii  I  However, 
it  embarrasses  me   much  to  find  vou  here.      You  will 


THE  ABB&    CONSTANTIN.  159 

understand  why  when  you  know  wliat  I  have  come 
to  ask   of  your  godfather." 

She  rehnquished  his  hands,  and,  turning  towards 
the  Abb6,  said : 

'•  I  liave  come  to  beg  you  to  hsten  to  my  confes- 
sion —  yes,  my  confession.  But  do  not  go  away. 
Monsieur  Jean  ;  I  will  make  my  confession  publicly. 
I  am  quite  willing  to  speak  before  you,  and  now  I 
think  of  it,  it  will  be  better  thus.  Let  us  sit  down, 
shall   we  ? "' 

She  felt  herself  full  of  confidence  and  daring. 
She  burnt  with  fever,  but  with  that  fever  which 
on  the  field  of  battle  gives  to  a  soldier  ardor,  heroism, 
and  disdain  of  danger.  The  emotion  which  made 
Bettina's  heart  beat  quicker  than  usual  was  a  high 
and  generous  emotion.      She  said  to  herself: 

"  I  wish  to  be  loved  I  I  wish  to  love  I  I  wish  to 
be  happy  !  I  wish  to  make  him  happy  !  And  since 
he  cannot  ha\e  the  courage  to  do  it,  I  must  have  it 
for  both.  I  must  march  alone,  my  head  high  and 
my  heart  at  ease,  to  the  conquest  of  our  love,  to  the 
conquest  of  our  happiness  ! "' 

From  her  first  words  Bettina  had  gained  over  the 
Abb6  and  Jean  a  complete  ascendancy.  They  let  her 
say  what  she  liked,  they  let  her  do  as  she  liked,  they 
felt  that  the  hour  was  supreme ;  they  understood 
that  what  was  happening  would  be  decisive,  irre- 
vocable, but  neither  was  in  a  position  to  foresee. 

They  sat  down  obediently,  almost  automatically ; 
they  waited,  they  listened.  Alone  of  the  three,  Bet- 
tina retained  her  composure.  It  was  in  a  calm  and 
even  voice  that  she  began. 


l6o  THE  ABB  A    CONSTANTLY. 

"  I  must  tell  you  first,  Monsieur  le  Cur6,  to  set 
your  conscience  (]uite  at  rest,  —  I  must  tell  you  that 
I  am  here  witli  the  consent  of  my  sister  and  my 
brother-in-law.  They  know  why  I  have  come  ;  they 
know  what  I  am  goins;  to  do.  They  not  only  know, 
l)ut  llicv  ap])n)vc.  That  is  settled,  is  it  not?  Well, 
what  brings  me  here  is  your  letter.  Monsieur  Jean.  — 
that  letter  in  which  you  tell  my  sister  that  you  cannot 
dine  with  us  this  evening,  and  that  you  are  positively 
obliged  to  leave  here.  This  letter  has  unsettled  all 
my  plans.  I  had  intended  this  evening  —  of  course 
with  the  permission  of  my  sister  and  brother-in-law 
—  I  had  intended  after  dinner  to  take  you  into  the 
jjark.  .Monsieur  Jean,  to  seat  myself  with  you  on  a 
bench  ;  I  was  childish  enough  to  choose  the  place 
beforehand.  There  I  should  have  delivered  a  little 
speech,  well  prepared,  well  studied,  almost  learnt  by 
heart,  for  since  your  departure  I  ha\'e  scarcely  thought 
of  anything  else  ;  I  repeat  it  to  myself  from  morning 
to  night.  That  is  what  I  had  proposed  to  do.  and  you 
understand  that  your  letter  caused  me  much  embar- 
ra.ssment.  I  reflectetl  a  little,  and  thought  that  if  I 
addressed  my  little  speech  to  your  godfather  it  would 
be  almost  the  same  as  if  I  addres.sed  it  to  nou.  So 
I  have  come,  Monsieur  le  Cure-,  to  beg  you  to  listen 
to  me." 

"  I  will  listen  to  you.  Miss  Percival,"'  stammered 
the  Abbe. 

"  I  am  rich.  Monsieur  le  Cure,  I  am  very  rich,  and, 
to  speak  frankly,  I  love  my  wealth  very  much  — yes, 
very  much.  To  it  I  owe  the  luxury  which  surrounds 
me,   luxury  which,   1   acknowledge,  —  this   is  a  con- 


THE  ABB  A    CONSTANTTN.  l6l 

fession,  —  is  by  no  means  disagreeable  to  me.  My 
excuse  is  tliat  1  am  still  very  young ;  it  will  perhaps 
pass  as  I  grow  older,  but  of  that  1  am  not  very  sure. 
I  have  another  excuse  :  it  is.  that  if  I  love  money  a 
little  for  the  pleasure  that  it  procures  me,  I  love  it 
still  more  for  the  good  which  it  allows  me  to  do.  I 
love  it  —  selfishly,  if  you  like  —  for  the  joy  of  giving ; 
but  I  think  that  my  fortune  is  not  very  badly  placed 
in  my  hands.  Well,  Monsieur  le  Cure,  in  the  same 
way  that  you  have  the  care  of  souls,  it  seems  that  I 
have  the  care  of  money.  I  have  always  thought,  '  I 
wish,  above  all  things,  that  my  husband  should  be 
worthy  of  sharing  this  great  fortune.  I  wish  to  be 
very  sure  that  he  will  make  a  good  use  of  it  with  me 
while  I  am  here,  and  after  me  if  1  must  leave  this 
world  first."  I  thought  of  another  thing  ;  I  thought, 
'  He  who  will  be  my  husband  must  be  some  one  I  can 
love  ! "  And  now.  Monsieur  le  Cur6,  this  is  where 
my  confession  really  begins.  There  is  a  man  who 
for  the  last  two  months  has  done  all  he  can  to  con- 
ceal from  me  that  he  loves  me,  but  I  do  not  doubt 
that  this  man  loves  me.  .  .  .  You  do  love  me, 
Jean? "" 

"  Yes,"  said  Jean,  in  a  low  voice,  his  eyes  cast 
down,  looking  like  a  criminal,  "  I  do  love  you  !  " 

' '  I  knew  it  very  well,  but  I  wanted  to  hear  you  say 
it ;  and  now,  I  entreat  you,  do  not  utter  a  single 
word.  Any  words  of  yours  would  be  useless,  would 
disturb  me,  would  prevent  me  from  going  straight  to 
my  aim,  and  telling  you  what  I  positivelv  intend  to 
.say.  Promise  me  to  stav  there,  sitting  still,  without 
moving,  without  speaking.     You  promise  me.''" 


l62  THE  ABB  A    CONSTAXTIN. 

"  I  promise  you." 

Bettina,  as  she  went  on  speaking,  began  to  lose  a 
little  of  her  contklence  :  her  voice  trembled  slightly. 
She  continued,  however,  witli  a  gayety  that  was  a 
little  forced. 

"  Monsieur  le  Cure,  1  do  not  blame  you  for  what 
has  happened,  yet  all  this  is  a  little  your  fault." 

"  My  fault!" 

"  Ah  !  do  not  speak,  not  even  you.  Yes,  I  repeat 
it,  your  fault.  ...  I  am  certain  that  you  have  spoken 
well  of  me  to  Jean,  much  too  well.  Perliaps  without 
that  he  would  not  have  thought  —  And  at  tlie  same 
time,  you  have  spoken  very  well  of  him  to  me.  Not 
too  well  —  no,  no  —  but  yet  very  well  I  Tlien  1  had 
so  mucli  confidence  in  you  that  I  began  to  look  at 
him,  and  examine  him  with  a  little  more  attention. 
I  began  to  compare  iiini  with  those  who.  during  the 
last  year,  had  asked  my  hand.  It  seemed  to  me  that 
he  was  in  every  respect  superior  to  them. 

"At  last  it  happened  on  a  certain  day,  or  rather 
on  a  certain  evening  —  three  weeks  ago.  the  evening 
before  you  left  here,  Jean  —  I  discovered  that  I  loved 
you.  .  .  .  Yes,  Jean,  I  love  you!  ...  I  entreat 
you,  do  not  speak ;  stay  wiiere  }ou  are :  do  not 
come  near  me. 

"  Before  1  came  here  I  thouglit  I  had  supplied 
mvself  with  a  good  stock  of  courage,  but  you  see  I 
iiave  no  longer  my  fine  composure  of  a  minute  ago. 
I5ut  I  liave  still  sometiii ng  to  tell  you.  and  the  most 
important  of  all.  Jean,  listen  to  me  carefully;  I  do 
not  wish  for  a  reply  torn  from  you  in  your  emotion  ; 
1   know  that   \ou   love   me.      If  you  marry  me,   1   do 


THE  ABB  A    CONSTANTIN.  163 

not  wish  it  to  be  only  for  love  ;  I  wish  it  to  be  also 
for  reason.  During  the  fortnight  before  you  left 
here,  you  took  so  much  pains  to  avoid  me,  to  escape 
any  conversation,  that  I  have  not  been  able  to  show 
myself  to  you  as  I  am.  Perhaps  there  are  in  me 
certain  qualities  which  you  do  not  suspect.    .    .    . 

"Jean,  I  know  what  you  are,  I  know  to  what  I 
should  bind  myself  in  marrying  )ou,  and  I  would  be 
for  you  not  only  the  loving  and  tender  woman,  but 
the  courageous  and  constant  wife.  1  know  your 
entire  life  ;  your  godfather  has  related  it  to  me.  I 
know  why  you  became  a  soldier  ;  I  know  what  duties, 
what  sacrifices,  the  future  may  demand  from  you. 
Jean,  do  not  suppose  that  I  will  turn  you  from  any 
of  these  duties,  from  any  of  these  .sacrifices.  If  I 
could  be  disappointed  with  you  for  anything,  it  would 
be,  perhaps,  for  this  thought,  —  oh!  you  must  have 
had  it.  —  that  I  should  wish  you  free,  and  quite  my 
own,  that  1  should  ask  you  to  abandon  your  career. 
Never !  never !  Understand  well,  1  will  never  a.sk 
such  a  thing  of  you.    .    .    . 

"  A  young  girl  whom  I  know  did  that  when  she 
married,  and  she  did  wrong.  I  love  you,  and  I  wish 
you  to  be  just  what  you  are.  It  is  because  you  live 
differently  from,  and  l^etter  than,  those  who  have 
before  desired  me  for  a  wife,  that  I  desire  you  for  a 
husband.  I  should  love  you  less  —  perhaps  I  should 
not  love  you  at  all,  though  that  would  be  very  diffi- 
cult —  if  you  were  to  begin  to  live  as  all  those  live 
whom  I  would  not  have.  When  I  can  follow  you, 
I  will  follow  you  ;  wherever  you  are  will  be  my  duty, 
wherever  you  are  will  be  my  happiness.      And  if  the 


164  THE  ABB&    CONSTANTTN. 

day  comes  when  you  cannot  take  me,  tlie  day  when 
you  must  go  alone,  — well.  Jean,  on  that  day  I  prom- 
ise you  to  be  ])rave,  and  not  take  your  courage  from 
you . 

"  And  now.  .Monsieur  le  Cur6,  it  is  not  to  him, 
it  is  to  you  that  1  am  speaking  :  I  want  yon  to  answer 
me,  not  him.  Tell  me,  ...  if  he  loves  me,  and 
feels  me  worthy  of  his  love,  would  it  be  just  to  make 
me  expiate  so  severely  the  fortune  that  I  possess? 
Tell  me,  should  he  not  agree  to  be  my  husband?" 

"  Jean,"  said  the  old  priest  gravely,  "  marry  her. 
It  is  vour  duty,  and  it  will  be  your  happiness  I "' 

Jean  approached  Bettina,  took  her  in  his  arms, 
and  pressed  uix)n  her  brow  the  first  kiss. 

Bettina  gently  freed  herself,  and  addressing  the 
Abb6  said  : 

"  And  now.  Monsieur  TAbbe,  I  have  still  one  tiling 
to  ask  you.      1  wish  —  I  wish  —  " 
•     "  You   wish?  ■■ 

"  Pray,  Monsieur  le  Cur6,  kiss  me  too." 

The  old  priest  kis.sed  her  paternally  on  both 
cheeks,   and  then   Bettina  continued  : 

"  \'ou  have  often  told  me,  Monsieur  le  Curd',  that 
Jean  was  almost  like  your  own  son.  and  I  shall  be 
almost  like  your  own  daughter,  shall  I  not?  So  you 
will  have  two  children,  that  is  all." 

A  month  after,  on  the  12th  of  September,  at  mid- 
day, Bettina,  in  tlie  simplest  of  wedding  dresses, 
entered  the  churcli  of  Longueval  while,  placed  be- 
hind the  altar,  the  trumpets  of  the  9tli  .Vrtillery  rang 
joyously  through  the  arches  of  the  old  eluu'ch. 


■rufinw, 


The  Fiust  Kiss.     (Opposite  page  164.) 


THE  ABB&    CONSTANTJN.  165 

Nancy  Turner  had  begged  for  the  honor  of  pla3ing 
the  organ  on  this  solemn  occasion,  for  the  poor  little 
harmonium  had  disappeared ;  an  organ  with  resplen- 
dent pipes    rose  in   the   gallery  of    the  church  —  it 


^ 


was  Miss  Percivars  wedding  present  to  the  Abb6 
Constant!  n. 

The  old  Cur6  said  mass,  Jean  and  Bettina  knelt 
before  him,  he  pronounced  the  lienediction,  and 
then  remained  for  some  moments  in  prayer,  his  arms 
extended,  calling  down  with  his  whole  soul  the 
blessings  of  Heaven  on  his  two  children. 

Then  floated  from  the  organ  the  same  re  very  of 


1 66  THE  ABB£    COXSTAA'T/N. 

Chopin's  whicli  Bcttina  liacl  played  tlic  first  time  that 
she  had  entered  that  village  church,  where  was  to  be 
consecrated  the  happiness  of  her  life. 
And   this  time  it  was   Bettina  who  wept. 


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